


Something Wicked: Season Two

by TCRegan



Series: Something Wicked [2]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 52,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4965973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Fenris along with their new friends Anders and Dorian continue their search for the mysterious magister who's been reanimating the dead for personal gain. Along the way they do whatever they can to help improve the lives of their fellow Thedosians, taking on odd jobs that are far from the regular everyday grind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fright Night, Act 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangrywarlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/gifts).



> Once again, this is all thanks to my lovely wife Vee, without whom this series never would have existed, nor been nearly as good. Thanks for holding my hand through the ups and downs of real and fandom life.
> 
> Super big thanks to my buddy [April](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month) for being supportive and awesome. You guys should check out her stuff. 
> 
> This will hopefully continue to post on a three-a-week schedule, time permitting. Thanks everyone for reading. As always, constructive criticism is welcome, feedback is appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

"It would figure that our first stop is in Ferelden," Dorian groused, brushing dirt off his robes.

Anders couldn't help but smile. The sun on his face, the smell of dirt and grass and dog, Ferelden was home. He'd never been to Redcliffe. Every time he tried to leave the Circle, he always went east or north. There was no point in heading to a town crawling with templars who would cut his freedom short. He'd left Ferelden years ago and forgot much about the beautiful country where he grew up. The memories trickled back slowly, though. Returning seemed to have a similar effect on Hawke as well, and he was whistling every so faintly. Fenris winced, glared, and Hawke smiled apologetically. Anders brushed his fingers deliberately over Hawke's and was pleased when Hawke took his hand, squeezing firmly.

So much happened in just a few months' time. Whatever it was about Hawke, he kept Justice at bay. Not quiet, as the thoughts were always there, always swirling. And on occasion, Anders woke with a new entry in his journal, the same capital letters written as if a child scribbled them. But Hawke never reported anything unusual and Anders woke feeling more refreshed than he ever had, curled against his lover. And if that wasn't a weird thing to come to expect, Anders wasn't sure what was. For the first time in a very long time, he felt not only satisfied, but happy. Karl was the last person to make him feel that way and cutting him out of one small part of his life was heartbreaking. Being so close to Hawke, feeling this way, it was terrifying and he wondered if he was simply fooling himself.

Hawke tugged on his hand. "Redcliffe's just up there. Ever been?"

Anders shook his head. "No. After I was Harrowed, I went north."

"We never stopped here for long. But my father took me a few times. He had a couple of contacts. Haven't been back in a while though. The last time I came home, we were out of West End for a bit. Looking into… Fenris, what was it?"

"Sewer monster."

"That's disgusting," Dorian chimed in.

"You don't know the half of it," Fenris muttered.

Anders laughed. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Hawke shrugged. "Turned out to be a very large alligator. Not something we usually handle. Sadly it didn't survive the extraction."

"You roasted it with a fireball."

Hawke scowled. "Damn thing nearly bit my arm off. Then where would we be?"

"Listening to you make, 'I am unarmed,' jokes, no doubt," Fenris sighed.

"Missed opportunity," Hawke lamented.

Anders laughed. "So, about Redcliffe?"

"Another mile," Hawke guessed. "Then we'll find a room and talk to the Arl in the evening."

It was nearly dawn. They'd taken to traveling during the night and sleeping during the brightest, hottest parts of the day. Though the sun wasn't as harsh here in Ferelden as it was in Tevinter, Dorian still seemed to have some trouble with it. He became sluggish and irritable, and Anders noticed he would change subtly. His eyes would turn black, his nails extended. He became sharper somehow, and while he appeared to at least be in control of his fangs, it was unnerving to see it happen. He wondered if it was similar to when Justice took over. The changes in anatomy alone were overwhelming. The magical signature shifting so wildly made it even more so.

As a healer first and foremost, he wanted to make sure his companions were taken care of. It was in his nature to look after others, even Fenris, who although they'd come to a mutual sort of agreement when it came to certain arguments, didn't seem to like him all that much. He put it down to jealousy. Hawke was an easy man to attach oneself to. Easygoing, with a horrible sense of humor, it wasn't difficult to get sucked in with his charm. Fenris was with him for a long time before Anders came along, but appeared to accept their growing relationship. Though it was confusing for Anders to become attached so quickly to someone when he'd spent most of his life pushing others away. Hawke just didn't let up. For whatever reason, Hawke decided that being with him was what he wanted. Anders thought perhaps he deserved someone with a little more life, a little more to give in return. For now, whatever this was, it worked well enough for the both of them.

Hawke lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, grinning endearingly. "You're quiet," he said, keeping his voice down.

Anders wondered if that mattered to beings who could likely hear leaves rustling in the breeze from miles off. His suspicions were confirmed when Dorian started to walk a little faster, Fenris keeping step but not before glancing back to Hawke, looking a little concerned. Hawke waved him on.

"Just thinking."

"Oh. I try not to do that so much."

Anders laughed. "Hawke."

"I like how you say my name. All exasperated but amused." He lowered his voice. "I like it better when you moan it."

Anders blushed. "Stop it."

"I mean it. So," Hawke said, changing tact, "thinking about what?"

"My clinic," Anders said, and was surprised when he realized he wasn't just saying that to cover up what he was really thinking about. In the back of his mind he was thinking about his patients, the volunteers that ran it, and Karl. Karl knew enough about it that he could help temporarily, but what if something happened to himself? Would they be able to press on without him?

"We'll go back to Kirkwall soon," Hawke assured him.

"No, we won't." Before Hawke could reply, Anders cut him off. "Optimism is one thing, Hawke, but we have a lot of work to do here. Simply that I never thought I'd be hunting a deranged magister across Thedas."

Hawke scowled. "If it's that important, you could always just leave." He dropped Anders' hand, then immediately reached for it again.

Anders pulled away, hurt. Perhaps this was the other, inevitable, shoe dropping. "Do you want that?"

"No! Of course not. But you don't have to phrase it like I forced you to come," he added, dejected. "Like you'd rather not be here."

"Oh, Hawke." Anders sighed. For as big and burly as Hawke was, the man could certainly pout. "It's an important mission. But I'd rather not have you issuing me false platitudes because it's what you think I want to hear."

"We _will_ go back to Kirkwall soon. After we follow this lead. I want to catch up with Bethany. See if my brother checked in at all."

"You don't really talk about him."

"He's an asshole," Hawke said casually. "But he's family. You make exceptions. I just want to make sure he isn't dead, then move on. While we're there, you can check on your clinic, and stay with me for the night."

"Hawke-"

"I know we talked about it before, but I insist. Besides, don't you sleep better with me? I know I do with you around."

"…You're insufferable."

Hawke grinned. "I've been called that and worse."

"How can you be so damned irritating and then next breath you're…"

"Endearing!" Hawke proclaimed, and reached for Anders' hand again.

Anders, shaking his head, let him take it.

-

When they awoke late in the evening, they convened around the fire in the tavern to have a quick meal and discuss a course of action.

"All I'm saying is that storming the castle isn't usually the best course of action. More likely it's a surefire way to get killed. If you're looking to join the legions of the undead that are rumored to be coming from the castle," Dorian said, waving a hand. He took a small sip from a flask which contained Alexius's blood.

Fenris tried not to recoil. The scent of blood never truly bothered him, so long as it didn't belong to himself or Hawke. Blood of their enemies however, was always welcome. Knowing Dorian needed to drink to sustain himself was unnerving. Nearly everything about him was. His easy aloof, manner. The fact that he was a mage and the son of a magister. How he never seemed to take much seriously. Even Hawke, for all his bad jokes and aloofness, knew when to stop acting like a fool. Dorian made nonchalance look elegant. He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back, legs stretched out in front of him. The fire warmed his boots, and he appeared content while talking about an undead army invading the city. He wasn't sure how much was a mask, and how much was real. But he smelled the anxiety on him, so he wasn't completely indifferent.

"I talked to the mayor," Hawke explained. "He said for weeks now, every night at midnight an army of the undead descends from the castle and takes at least one villager."

"Hold on a moment, what do you mean, 'takes'?" Dorian asked, sitting up straight. "Undead don't do anything they're not ordered to, and they're not in the habit of leaving people alive when faced with opposition. If they're ordered to be peaceful, the villagers could just mow them down with pitchforks and fire."

"It does seem a little sketchy," Anders agreed. "Did the mayor say anything about the losses? How many were killed?"

Hawke shrugged. "No, he just said that one night they came from the castle and every night since then they started taking one villager."

Dorian looked up at the clock over the fireplace. "Half an hour to midnight. We should see this for ourselves." He took another sip, capped the flask, and replaced it in his bag before standing and stretching.

"We can defend the villagers," Anders added, reaching for his staff. "If we can repel the undead, or kill enough of them, we should be able to sneak inside the castle to find the source of what's reanimating them."

Fenris wasn't sure. Something felt off. Why hadn't the people of Redcliffe appealed to their king already? Why was the town so secretive overall about this? Their Arl was sick, but more likely he was dead. Possibly some blood mage controlled the stronghold. They needed more than a militia and a few capable hunters. They would need an army, siege weapons, someone to lead the fight.

He followed Hawke out into the night, the cool breeze off the lake ruffling his hair. Dorian pulled his cloak around himself and Fenris snorted lightly. If he thought it was cold now, it was only going to get worse. But perhaps they'd be back in Kirkwall before that happened, safely ensconced in Hawke's mansion, sitting once again in front of a fire. He would change to his wolf form and curl on the hearth like he'd done so many times before. Only this time, the picture included Anders sitting with Hawke. Jealous parts of his subconscious added Dorian as well for balance, and surprisingly they were curled up together in his little daydream.

"All right?" Dorian asked, using his staff for balance as they descended the hill toward the town square.

"Errant thoughts of Kirkwall."

"Homesick?"

Fenris bit his tongue, holding back a snappish remark about needing a home to be homesick. It would be an insult to Hawke, after all he'd done for him, to state he didn't have a home. Hawke was family now. That didn't mean it wasn't surreal, however. "A bit."

"I'm sorry."

Fenris looked at Dorian through the darkness, seeing him as easily as one would if it were a sunny afternoon. "It's fine," he muttered. "I'd rather be here with Hawke than there alone."

"Perhaps once this is over we can have a grand party."

"I… don't like parties much."

Dorian laughed. "No, you don't seem the type. But I wouldn't mind attending one with you."

"Okay, loverboy, break it up," Hawke said, thrusting a hand between the two of them. "Look, they're gathering in the square."

They approached the group of villagers, at the center of which stood a girl, crying softly into a handkerchief. An older woman, her mother perhaps, had a comforting arm around her, trying to placate her.

"It's for the best, my dear," the woman said.

"I know!" the girl sniffed. "I know, I just wasn't ready."

"Ready for what?" Hawke asked, stepping right into it as he usually did. "Murdock," he added, nodding to a ruddy-haired man who stood nearby, watching impassively.

"Hawke," Murdock said. "This doesn't concern you."

"She seems upset. Maybe I can help."

"She won the lottery," the older woman said.

"Er. Well. Congratulations?" Hawke said.

This was evidently the wrong thing to say, and the girl sobbed harder, crying into her mother's shoulder.

"Doesn't seem like she should be that upset," Hawke noted.

And Fenris suddenly realized. Anders did as well, and his eyes flashed blue in the night. Murdock took several steps back as Anders advanced on him, his voice deep and reverberating.

"You sacrifice your own?"

Not that Fenris wanted to get between the monster that was Justice and a man like Murdock if this was indeed the truth, but they needed answers. As Hawke tried to calm Anders down, Fenris stepped up. He was a few inches shorter than Murdock but much more intimidating. His markings flared and perhaps Murdock thought him as dangerous as the spirit abomination, because he put his hands up in surrender. The villagers took a collective step back, away from their group, clearly terrified.

"This is why the undead take only one. You draw lots to see who gets taken?" Fenris asked, disgusted.

"It was the fairest way!" Murdock said. "They come down out of the castle, take the one who volunteers, and then leave us alone."

"Volunteers?" Hawke snapped, one hand on Anders' shoulder. The barely contained anger between the four of them was palpable though, and while the villagers were numerous, they were outnumbered as far as power and strength. "You force people to sacrifice themselves!"

"We don't know what happens," Murdock said quickly.

"Well the undead certainly aren't bringing them to the castle to serve them tea!" Dorian said, glaring. He drew even with Fenris, eyes leveled at Murdock.

"She's not going," Anders said, finally gaining control of himself. "I'll take her place."

"Anders-"

"Hawke, I can handle a few undead. And you can follow."

"We can all go," Dorian said. "The four of us." He looked back to Murdock. "Whatever it is you do with your villagers, you'll do to us, and the undead will take us instead of an innocent girl."

The girl, who was watching the conversation unfold, gave a sob of relief. "Andraste bless you!"

With the entire village watching, Murdock couldn't say no. "Very well. Let's get you ready."


	2. Fright Night: Act 2

"Why is it that no matter where we go, we end up half-naked, oiled up, and tied to a pole?" Hawke sighed, pulling at the leather straps around his wrists.

"Is that normal for you?" Dorian asked. "Like a regular Saturday night?"

"At least we were allowed to keep our pants this time," Anders said.

"Oh? Were pants not involved the last time?" Dorian asked, leering at him. "I'm sorry I missed _that_."

Hawke growled. "Eyes up, bloodsucker."

"I would direct my compliments at yourself if you bathed every now and again," Dorian huffed, but dutifully looked away from Anders' bare chest.

"I don't know why they needed our shirts off," Anders commented.

"Typical sacrificial stuff, I expect," Dorian returned. "Makes the offerings all the sweeter."

Fenris tested the ties. He could phase through them easily enough if need be. Anders, who was silent the entire time they tied his straps, would likely be able to let his pet demon take over to wreak havoc before the undead could even touch him. Dorian's magic would burn through the leather. And Hawke… he was capable. They were hardly at the mercy of these creatures that should be descending on them any minute. Further down the bank the militia was armed with sturdy weapons, barrels of oil, and flaming arrows. If the undead ignored their tempting sacrifices, there would at least be one more line of defense before they fell on the village.

He wondered if Hawke would deal with the mayor once this was over. The town collectively decided to hold a lottery to pick one person to be sacrificed to the undead. The chances of finding those people alive were less than nothing. Maybe at one point Fenris would have wondered at the depravity of man, but lately it seemed like there was more bad in the world than good. Experiments and sacrifices, blood mages, and demented men in power.

_That's why you stay with Hawke. To fix it._

He let out a heavy sigh. It was true enough. He never thought himself particularly noble, but Hawke was good, he did good things.

"All right?" Hawke asked, glancing at him.

"Yes."

"Huh. Here I thought your sigh meant something other than, 'Gee I'm bored. I can't wait to be eaten by undead. Wish they'd hurry up.'"

"Here they come," Anders interrupted.

Fenris smelled them first before seeing them, the stench of rotted, decaying flesh. Perhaps a hundred corpses ambled across the bridge from the castle, limping along on brittle bones. While some were clad in tattered rags of clothing, most were naked, revealing the greyed, sickly looking skin. Some were merely skeletons with the barest of sinew and magic holding them together. He recoiled as they approached and fought against his instinct to transform and tear them apart. On his other side, Dorian had his eyes shut firmly, but Fenris saw him struggle to keep control. He knew how difficult it was. When an enemy presented itself, you didn't bare your throat. You fought back.

Their poles were pulled from the ground by fingers stronger than they looked. The world tilted and Fenris was carried like a pig to slaughter by these reviled creatures. Anders shut his eyes as well, taking deep breaths, light blue cracks of magic peppering his skin and fading just as quickly as he tamped down on his own instincts. Hawke alone appeared unaffected, humming softly as they swayed. The scent of the lake filtered over them when they crossed the bridge and Fenris took a breath that didn't make him want to gag.

They were carried through the courtyard of the castle into a side door and down a passageway. The stone was slick and stained with blood, scratch marks along the walls indicating that not all the prisoners went as willingly as they did. The dungeon was little more than eight cells set parallel in two groups of four, and the undead creatures set Dorian upright first, untying him and shoving him inside one. Hawke went next, then Fenris across from Hawke, and Anders was crowded into the cell next to Fenris's.

"I've been in nicer," Hawke commented, glancing around.

Fenris looked. A wooden bench with a rotted mattress and a pile of hay comprised the four-by-seven cell. Hawke wasn't lying. As far as dungeons went, this was one of the rattier places they'd been. Diagonal to him was another man he hadn't seen at first. He was sitting on the mattress, head in his hands, his lanky brown hair covering his face. Perhaps the last villager who was sacrificed? If that was true, then they had more time to figure out their next step. Hawke, as usual, ran head first into a plan without actually having a plan. Upon reflection, Fenris should've been used to it by now.

"Jowan?" Anders asked.

The man looked up. His expression turned from bewilderment to recognition and he stood, pressing his face to the bars. "Anders? What are you doing here? Are you here to save me?"

"I didn't even know you were here," Anders admitted. "Were you in the village?"

"No," Jowan said, looking distressed. "I was getting dragged back to the Circle when… well, it's a long story."

 _The Circle. Another mage._ Fenris sighed, sitting heavily on the mattress, then jumped up again when several cockroaches skittered out from under it. It seemed no matter where he went, he would always find himself in the company of more mages. And this one appeared more inept than any other he met.

"Back to the Circle? Why?"

"Do… you remember Uldred?"

Though Fenris couldn't see Anders from the angle of the cells, he thought the room dropped at least ten degrees when Anders finally spoke.

"Yes." A pause. "Jowan, what are you saying?"

"I swear, I never meant for it to go that far." Jowan's voice wavered, cracking slightly. "I just wanted to study. I never wanted to-"

"Blood magic, Jowan?" Anders asked, sounding horribly disappointed.

Jowan shifted from foot to foot. "I didn't know."

"Well that's the biggest load of nugshit that I have ever heard," Dorian said acidly from his cell next to Hawke's. "What a perfect excuse. 'I didn't know'. And when the demon asked you to slice your wrist, I'm sure you just merrily did as he asked, never thinking there would be an actual consequence."

"Hey, you don't know me!" Jowan shouted, trying to look down the row.

"No. I know people like you," Dorian scowled. He leaned against the wall carefully, arms crossed over his bare chest. "There's no other option or so you think. The lure of the demon giving you untold power so you say yes. You agree and poof: blood mage."

"It's not too late to turn away from it," Anders said.

Jowan frowned, hanging his head. "It was a hunger demon."

"Oh for Andraste's sake." Dorian swore thickly in Tevene and retreated to the back of the cell, muttering about idiots and power.

Hawke fixed his eyes on Anders. "Why is there a blood mage vampire locked in the dungeons of Redcliffe castle?"

"Jowan?" Anders prompted.

"The templars caught me but some soldiers killed them. I was, er, requisitioned. Sent here to help with the Arl's son."

"The Arl's son?" Anders asked. "He's a mage?"

Jowan nodded. "An apostate. His mother didn't want him sent to the Circle. And there's something else."

"Of course there is," Anders said. He sounded as if he was quickly losing patience.

"I was paid to poison the Arl."

"Don't tell me you-"

"They threatened to kill me!"

Hawke scoffed. "I have met some pretty cowardly people in my day, but I think you just won that award." He caught Fenris's eye and shook his head, disgusted.

Fenris had to agree with him. Though, a part of him understood. Not all men were as noble as Hawke. Nor as strong. Jowan didn't strike him as a particularly willful person to begin with. Whoever this 'Uldred' was, he likely didn't have to push very hard to get Jowan to do what he wanted.

"Hawke," Anders admonished softly. "So why are you locked in the dungeon?" Anders pressed. "Did they find out you poisoned him? And how did you poison him?"

Jowan explained an overly complicated spell that caused Fenris's head to ache just a little. But Anders seemed to understand it at least.

"So now I'm waiting to see if they're going to kill me."

"That doesn't explain the hordes of the undead," Hawke said. "Did you summon them?"

"…Connor. The Arl's son."

"The Arl's son summoned a horde of undead?" Anders asked, baffled. "Maker's breath, why?"

"He wanted to save his father," Jowan explained, a whine to his tone, as if he expected to be berated for this as well. "A demon offered him help in his sleep and he-"

"Bloody brilliant," Dorian muttered.

"Always with the demons," Anders agreed. "All right. Well. Hawke, do you have a plan?"

Hawke leaned against the bars, arms dangling out as he banged on them idly, thinking. "Find a key. Or Fenris can phase through and kill the locks. Right?" he asked, looking at Fenris.

"They're just iron," Fenris confirmed.

"Then we make our way upstairs to find the possessed kid and try to help him."

"Good," Dorian agreed. "I'd rather not kill a child."

"He's _possessed_ ," Jowan said.

"He's also a child!" Dorian snapped. "One that never would've had to face a demon if you hadn't hurt his father. So I suggest you be quiet."

Jowan looked at Anders, presumably for help.

"We'll need to go into the Fade," Anders said quietly. "I don't really fancy that. I'm worried what… never mind."

"I'd like to avoid it as well, everything considered," Dorian said. "The last time I went there in waking, it wasn't a fun experience."

Fenris caught Hawke's eye, and nodded.

"We'll go then," Hawke said. "Fenris and myself. If it's an option, if it helps. We'll kill the demon controlling him in the Fade and then figure out how to save his father. Fenris?"

Fenris phased his fist through the locking mechanism, destroying it easily, and pushed the cell door open. Jowan watched, wide-eyed, as he moved next to Hawke's, then Anders' and Dorian's.

"Too bad we couldn't bring our staves," Dorian said.

Hawke pulled out a small rod Fenris recognized as the psionic bow he bought the last time they were in Kirkwall. "It's okay. I've been practicing with this." He lined up a shot, and the arrow materialized, sang through the air, then embedded itself into the stone wall before fizzling. "And you said it was useless," he added smugly to Fenris.

Fenris rolled his eyes. "What do we do with the blood mage?"

"Let him go," Anders said.

"What?" Dorian stepped in front of him. "You're not serious. He's dangerous."

"As a kitten," Anders said easily.

"He poisoned-" Dorian cut off. "Fine. He's your friend. You deal with him. I'm going to be over there, avoiding the moronic blood mage."

Fenris watched him stalk to the bottom of the stairs and despite his better judgment, followed. Anders and Hawke could work out what to do with Jowan. "Are you all right?"

"He got a child hurt, and they're content to let him wander."

"He does seem… misguided rather than dangerous," Fenris said, finding himself in the odd position of actually defending a blood mage. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. "Would you kill him?"

Dorian softened a bit, uncrossing his arms. "I'm not in the position to make that judgment. Tried, at least, in whatever passes for courts here."

"They would execute him," Fenris said. He wasn't as familiar with Fereldan law as he was Tevinter or even Kirkwall. But no one suffered a blood mage gladly.

"Perhaps that's justice."

"We'll save the boy."

"You're very optimistic," Dorian said, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk.

"It is not normal. I'll thank you not to tell Hawke."

Dorian laughed. "Very well." Amusement faded quickly to concern. "Are you sure you want to go into the Fade?"

"No. But it's necessary. And I won't let Hawke go alone."

"He would, wouldn't he?"

"Yes." It wasn't even a question. Hawke always leapt before he looked and Fenris was left having to follow and pick up the pieces. The Fade was dangerous for a mage. He wouldn't leave Hawke to such a danger.

Dorian hesitated before he spoke next. "I would be mildly irritated if something happened to you."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Well for one thing, the world would be missing one gorgeous elf."

Fenris wished that blushing wasn't an involuntary response. He dropped his gaze, feeling the heat in the tips of his ears. _He's complimentary about the abomination as well._ The thought was sobering, but when he looked up, Dorian was peering at him appraisingly, in a way that made Fenris wonder if was more than just flirting. Not that it mattered. He wasn't interested. Dorian was capable and proved to be a kindred spirit in his love of the night. They would potentially become better friends, Fenris thought, provided Dorian didn't fall to his altered physiologic nature. _I'll help to make sure he doesn't._

"Any other reasons?" he asked, trying to sound annoyed rather than pleased.

"I don't have many friends. Losing one would upset me."

Before Fenris could respond to that, Hawke called him over. He looked at Dorian who smiled gently. Not the usual cocky smirk, but a genuine smile. Fenris found himself returning it before jogging lightly to Hawke.

"We're releasing him. Sending him to Alexius," Hawke said. "Best thing for him, and maybe he can learn something."

"By selling me to a Tevinter magister?"

"Alexius deserves better," Dorian said, wandering over. "But no doubt he'll get the guidance he needs with him."

Fenris phased through the lock and killed the mechanism, stepping back so Anders could let his friend out. Jowan wrung his hands anxiously.

"So you know where to go and how to get there," Anders said. "Don't get caught. Tell him Hawke sent you."

"Yes, all right. Will you be okay?" he asked, looking at Anders.

"We'll be fine."

 _As we clean up your mess,_ Fenris thought.

"Off you go then," Hawke said, gesturing to the stairs that led to the courtyard.

Jowan nodded and hurried away, barely giving them a backwards glance.

Anders sighed but smiled when Hawke took him by the shoulder. "I'm fine. Let's get this over with."

"Let's hope we can help Eamon's son," Hawke added.

"I'd rather not fight a demon abomination," Dorian mused. "Especially one that can control a horde of undead."

"We'll find his mother," Hawke said, leading the way up the stairs. "And… I'm not sure."

"You do make things up as you go along," Dorian sighed.

"He does," Fenris said, feeling a slight flutter in his chest when Dorian grinned at him. "He truly does."

But, he thought, he would follow Hawke anywhere. Plan or no.


	3. Fright Night: Act 3

Hawke wasn't sure what he was expecting when they entered the main hall of Redcliffe Castle. A demon, perhaps. Tall and intimidating, with razor sharp fangs and claws dripping with poison. Maybe some victims tied up dramatically. The demon could have a moustache not unlike Dorian's that he twirled menacingly while laughing his deep, booming laugh. Instead, he got a pint-sized blond boy who looked like he was just told Wintersend was canceled. Next to him stood a woman who could only be his mother, and sitting at his feet, a man who looked older than he probably was, deep dark circles under his eyes, worry lines etched into his features.

"So you're the demon?" Hawke asked in disbelief.

"Perhaps we shouldn't prod the abomination," Dorian suggested.

Fenris pulled idly at the scratchy tunic they found in a side room discarded in a crate. He wondered if the ones they were all wearing now were taken off dead men. They certainly smelled like it. But nothing smelled worse to him right now than the boy in front of them. It wasn't a normal possession, but he could still taste the taint of the demon on his tongue.

"Mother, why is it talking?" Connor – or the thing wearing Connor's skin – asked.

Isolde twisted her hands together. "They are guests, Connor," she said, her thick Orlesian accent betraying her fear.

Connor's eyes flashed purple and Fenris felt the air in the room thicken, coalescing into a white mist like fog rolling off the sea. Anders, affected deeply by the odious magic, dropped to his knees, clutching his head. Cracks of blue light started to appear in his skin and he cried out in pain, struggling to keep the spirit at bay.

Hawke knelt quickly. "Anders? What is it?"

Fenris stepped in front of both them instinctively, feeling naked without his sword. His lyrium brands flared brightly as he anticipated an attack. It came in the form of a ball of black light, ominous and pulsating, discharging from the center of Connor's chest. Seconds before it hit him, Dorian lashed out with his own magic, a lick of purple fire crashing against it, causing it to fly off course and smash against a wall. Stone crumbled and a cloud of dust and debris rained down.

"It knows how to play," Connor chuckled darkly. Two black spots formed on his forehead and grew like horns made of twisted shadow. "Let's see it dance."

"Connor, wait!" Isolde yelled, reaching out.

Bold though it was, the move was ultimately stupid. Connor flung his hand out as easily as one would swat a fly. Isolde flew backward forcefully, crashing into a chair. Fenris could spare no sympathy for the woman as his markings lit even brighter and pulled at him like a marionettist's strings. His arms started to jerk and he flailed wildly, unable to control them.

"No!" he ordered Dorian, who stepped forward to help. He threw a punch which thankfully Dorian dodged.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked, slightly panicked as he looked up from Anders, whose skin was smoking, waves of blue steam rolling from his flesh. He seemed unable to control himself as well.

"It's… the lyrium," Fenris said, his body jerking and twitching as Connor laughed. The demon was having its fun, but Fenris would overcome it.

Hawke stood, his expression merciless, angry but also scared. He flicked a hand out, long wires of electricity spilling from his fingertips, and he turned toward Connor.

"Wait!" Teagan, who until recently was watching this with a somewhat passive expression, stood suddenly. "Connor, don't you want to feed your pets? They haven't eaten tonight. These people tricked you. They were supposed to be its meal. And look, your mother needs a hug."

Isolde pulled herself from the floor, groaning loudly but otherwise seemed unharmed. She startled when Connor approached and took her hand, but allowed herself to be pulled forward. Connor snapped his fingers. Fenris fell to the ground, his lyrium tingling uncomfortably, but he could move again. Hawke stepped forward but Dorian caught his arm and there was a silent war between the two before Hawke relented.

"My uncle is right," Connor said, the horns disappearing from his head in a puff. His eyes regained their normal hue and he clung tightly to Isolde's hand. "My pets are ever so hungry, and since you came to play the hero, it's only fitting that you have a fight before you die, rather than the massacre I would have given. We'll send someone to collect what's left of your corpses later. Come, mother, I wish a bedtime story. Uncle."

Teagan got to his feet while Connor pulled Isolde from the room. He looked at Hawke imploringly and they understood. A fighting chance against a horde of undead was preferable to being snuffed out one at a time in a humiliating manner. Or letting Justice take over. Fenris glanced at Anders, who was on all fours, breathing hard. The cracks in his skin were slowly disappearing, but he appeared to have better control of himself now. The door clicked shut and the hall was empty.

"Desire demon," Dorian said, shaking his head to clear it. "Heard it singing in my mind. But it's not a strong one. I've encountered worse."

Fenris waved Hawke away before he could even ask if he was all right. Compared to Anders, he was better than fine. Hawke gave him a concerned look before kneeling next to Anders, hand on his back, whispering quietly to him.

"I'm all right," Fenris heard Anders say.

The side door banged open with force enough to splinter the wood. Several dozen undead corpses ambled in, moving slowly on their broken limbs, though no less terrifying than their quick counterparts Fenris and Hawke had the misfortune running afoul of in times past. Hawke pulled Anders forcibly to his feet and the four of them backed away. The door where they entered shook, splintered, and a dozen more corpses spilled into the room.

"Fire?" Dorian suggested.

Hawke passed a still dazed Anders to Fenris, who scowled, but pulled him from the line of impending fire. Anders insisted again he was fine, but his eyes were glazed over and cloudy, and Fenris could tell he would be more of a liability than an asset in this fight. Dragging one of his arms around his shoulders, he pulled Anders up on the dais with the throne, into a corner and away from the fight. Dorian and Hawke stood back-to-back and a small part of Fenris tried hard to extinguish the jealousy that alit in his chest, seeing them fight.

Soon the room filled with smoke and ash, the acrid scent of burning flesh stinging his nostrils. He pulled his tunic up over his nose, and did the same for Anders, keeping the abomination upright though he appeared ready to pass out. There seemed an endless wave of undead, corpses in all manner of decay, most wearing simple peasant clothes that were either rotted or ripped. Bodies piled high around them, and the doors became blocked quickly.

"Through the rafters," Hawke ordered.

Castle Redcliffe was old and inexpertly built. The stone walls were uneven and it made for an easy climb up. At least for Fenris. He scaled the wall at once, and Hawke hurried to assist Anders and Dorian up after. Anders, still dizzy, clung slightly to Fenris, much to his irritation. He would need both hands to navigate the narrow wooden beams over the horde of undead as they crossed the hallway from above.

"Here, get on my back," Hawke said, once he climbed up.

"Really, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Dorian said. "The demon tried to control your spirit. Almost succeeded, too."

Hawke wasn't going to let the argument continue. Balanced atop one of the wooden beams as he was, he turned and pulled Anders onto his back, grabbing a girder for support. Anders made a defeated sort of whimpering noise, but clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist. Fenris started carefully across the rafters, the drop below filled with shambling corpses. Even if they had their weapons, there was no guarantee that they'd be able to take on so many. Banishing or destroying the demon was the only way to sever the hold. Then it would just be a matter of cleaning the corpses up.

"Since this has nothing to do with our errant magister," Dorian said, from behind Hawke, "couldn't we just leave them to it?"

"No," Hawke said at once.

"I'm all for the nobility that comes with sacrificing our lives for a cause, but I'm not sure this is the one I would pick. Best we let the king know and have him send in his army, yes?"

"No." Hawke was annoyed. And had he not been tiptoeing across a narrow plank of wood with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of undead milling underneath him, he might have stopped, turned, and glared at Dorian. He may still have, though carrying Anders made it difficult to execute the move with any grace, and he decided he wouldn't risk it.

"So what's the plan? Or are we charging in blindly as usual?" Dorian asked, irritated.

"We find a room not crawling with undead and set up for the ritual." Hawke hefted Anders and took two more steps forward, peering down into what looked like a storage chamber. "Here."

Fenris lowered himself, fingers digging in the wooden rafter before letting go. He landed in a crouch, and looked up. "Drop him down."

"Do not break our healer," Dorian said.

"Give me a hand," Hawke ordered.

Together they lowered a still disoriented Anders, and Fenris was there to cushion the blow. He set him against the wall, kneeling to look into his eyes.

"I'm all right," Anders assured him. "Just need a few minutes to rest."

"You can rest while Fenris and I are in the Fade," Hawke said, taking out two vials of lyrium. He looked around, found a chipped wooden bowl, and emptied them into it. Then, he looked at Dorian. "We'll need blood for the ritual to enter the Fade."

Fenris stood at once. "Blood magic?" In all his years he knew Hawke, he never once spoke kindly of it.

"Jowan explained the ritual we'll need to enter the Fade. It's just a couple of drops, Fenris."

Fenris gritted his teeth. "Now it's only a couple of drops. But what next? Just a few more? Then even more than that? How long before you're bleeding others?"

Hawke strode forward, grabbed Fenris by the arm, and shoved him bodily against the wall. "I am _not_ that."

Dorian and Anders exchanged looks, but wisely kept quiet as the silent battle of wills passed. Fenris bowed his head, yanking his arm from Hawke's grasp. Hawke touched his shoulder, then gripped tight when Fenris tried to pull away again.

"Look at me," Hawke said, his voice quiet, but authoritative. When Fenris did, he continued. "Five drops of blood from a willing participant, we slip into the Fade and kill this fucking demon, save the Arl and get out of here."

Fenris nodded.

Hawke pressed his forehead to his friend's, hand on the back of his neck. "If I fall to blood magic, you can say, 'I told you so'."

"You won't," Fenris said. "I… am sorry."

Hawke shrugged, then shoved him back gently. "No harm done." He turned to Dorian. "Anders is out of it, Fenris and I are going in. You're the sacrificial lamb."

Dorian rolled his eyes, but lifted his hand. The nail on his index finger grew, and his eyes turned black. Hawke held the bowl out and the silver-blue lyrium swirled with the drops of blood. Hawke sat, cross-legged on the floor, pulling Fenris to sit across from him.

"I've never done this before. Not consciously," Hawke added, looking up at Dorian.

"It's not very pleasant. But we'll look after you."

"Look after Anders, too."

Dorian nodded. "I promise."

Neither man took the opportunity to exchange insults, and it was that more than anything that told of the seriousness of the situation.

"I'd feel better going in with weapons," Hawke said, looking at the bowl cupped in his hands. "I'm not sure the psionic bow will be any good against Fade… things."

"It's the Fade." Dorian knelt down, a ball of black magic accumulating in his palm. "Just think about the weapon you want and you'll have it. Close your eyes."

Fenris drew a nervous, shaky breath and did as he was told. He felt Dorian's hand on his shoulder, warm through the thin, borrowed tunic and started to drift. It felt like falling asleep, the calm drifting place between true unconsciousness and awake. And when he opened his eyes, he was in the Fade.


	4. Fright Night: Act 4

"Of all the ideas you've ever had, Hawke-"

"This is the most brilliant!"

"…No."

Hawke grinned to hide his nervousness, but his palms were sweaty and he wiped them unconsciously against his thighs. "A bit weird. Our bodies back at Redcliffe Castle and we're… where are we?"

Fenris didn't want to think about that. The ground beneath him shifted, the sky an ugly, muted green. Clouds drifted by with an ethereal quality and the entire thing felt wrong to him. He couldn't see his feet, shrouded in thick grey mist, and wished immediately he was back at the castle instead of here. He didn't like most of the dreams he had and was grateful when he forgot them. 

"Are you all right?" Hawke asked, and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing to help him focus. They'd been in strange situations together, but none so much as this. "We've killed demons before. This should be like taking candy from a baby."

"That's a ridiculous phrase," Fenris said, coming back to himself. Hawke often had that effect on him. He would say or do something so absurd that Fenris simply needed to point it out.

"Well, babies shouldn't have candy anyway. Probably choke on it, all things considered." Hawke shrugged. "Let's see now… I would very much like a staff. An impressive looking one that I can perform all sorts of powerful magic with." He held out his hand. A long wooden pole materialized, about a foot shorter than Hawke. The top twisted into four different spirals, and came together. Then, as suddenly as it materialized, it stopped. "That's it?" Hawke frowned. "That's it. I said impressive-looking. Stupid Fade, can't even get a simple order right."

Fenris scoffed. Nothing about Hawke was subtle. The nondescript staff would be a good change and hopefully curtail his ego a bit. But in the meantime, he needed a weapon of his own. He held out his hands, trying to visualize the two handed greatsword he was used to wielding. Instead, in his right appeared a one-handed short sword, its leather wrapped handle smooth in his palm. In his left, a brilliant dagger made of silverite, the shine visible even in the dull light of the Fade. Both blades were sharp and deadly and had they been real, likely worth quite a bit of coin.

Hawke whistled. "Better imagination than I have, that's for sure."

"I was hoping for something else."

"Looking a gift horse in the mouth again, I see," Hawke said. "Come on. Connor's demon has to be close by. If the Fade reflects the real world, that is."

"And if not?" Fenris asked, following Hawke through the eerie landscape, feeling as if he was going to fall through the world at any second.

"Then we have a lot of walking do it. Which we do anyway, so nothing's changed."

"Except we may be on a time limit."

"If time flows differently here than it does in the real world, we might be in trouble," Hawke agreed. "Best we pick up the pace."

They hurried through the twisting lanes the Fade offered. Fenris kept his eyes straight ahead. He could feel the ground below him, but it did nothing to reassure him that it was actually there. The horizon changed constantly, offering a mountainous view, then nothing but clear sky. And the sky itself flickered from green to orange to black and back again. There were no stars. Even in a city as bright as Kirkwall there were still stars above. He tried not to think of the inky void looming over his head like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow him whole.

"Are you sure this will work?" Fenris thought it would be just their luck if it turned out this entire trip was a waste of time.

"That blood mage explained it all."

Fenris felt his insides grow cold. "Vampire."

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but yes. Apparently not all of them are bad."

"Even Dorian?"

Hawke made a noise of disgust. "Just because I don't like him doesn't mean he's a bad person. And Alexius likes him well enough. And you."

"What about me?"

"You like him."

"He's a companion. He'll help us bring down the magister."

Hawke nudged Fenris a little. "You _like_ him."

"...I see you've managed to become ten years old again. You may speak to me once you've regained your usual level of immaturity."

"Seriously," Hawke said, and he sounded it, "do you?"

"We're not having a conversation about this in the middle of the Fade, when spirits might appear at any moment and try to kill us."

"Fine," Hawke relented. "But we'll have it once we get out."

"Fine."

Fenris knew that Hawke would likely find something else to distract him once they were out of the Fade and he would likely forget all about it. Or at least, he hoped he would. He didn't want to think about Dorian or how he might feel about him. The man was everything that was wrong with Tevinter. Everything that needed to change. Blood magic, nobility, arrogance. He wasn't a magister, but he might as well be one. His attitude toward slavery was flippant, just like every other mage in power in the Imperium. And yet, Fenris couldn't hate him. To have something so foul forced upon you, to have to live as a mixed creature. The darkness called to him as it did to Dorian. It wasn't the same as Anders, not quite. While he'd been experimented on, a spirit forced into his body, it was still there. Justice was terrifying, but he wasn't a demon. He didn't pull Anders toward the night.

When he sat with Dorian at night, in the hour or two before dawn as they settled down to sleep, he felt a strange sort of camaraderie. Someone who understood. Hawke would always respect him, his abilities. But Dorian seemed to instinctively _know_. And his physiological changes increased his senses. They heard the same things: the wind rustling the trees, the cicadas and their song, a bird digging in the grass for its breakfast. Fenris never gave it much thought before, but to Dorian it was like he was experiencing an entirely new world. And, Fenris reasoned, he likely was. He'd always been able to sense these things as far back as he could remember. But for Dorian, everything was still somewhat new.

However, that didn't mean he had _feelings_ for Dorian. He was a companion. If he proved capable and strong like Hawke, he would become a steadfast ally and possibly a good friend. And like Hawke – and Anders to a lesser extent – Fenris would protect him and make sure he didn't fall to the foul corruption that so many other mages before them fell to. But if he did, Fenris would be there to stop him and to kill him. Even if he did feel something for Dorian other than an odd kinship, he wouldn't discuss it with Hawke. They might be like brothers, but there were some things you didn't need to share with family.

"Over the ridge?" Hawke suggested.

Their path sloped upward and the horizon changed again from clear and flat plains to mountainous. Fenris started to feel slightly nauseous with it. "At least it's not a cave," he muttered.

"Now I bet there'll be a cave at the top. Just because you said that. It'll be all your fault."

They hiked the distance, stopping abruptly when three greenish-white wisps floated across their path. Fenris gripped the handle of the sword, ready to strike as the wisp in the lead paused, head tilted like a dog trying to figure something out. It was a tense moment, but the wisps apparently didn't see them as a threat, and floated on without attacking. Hawke exhaled and Fenris smirked. At least he wasn't the only one apprehensive about this trip.

"Called it. You owe me a sovereign."

Fenris scowled as they gained the summit, which flattened out and led to a cave. "I took no bet."

"Pretty sure I said I bet there would be a cave."

"And I am positive I didn't agree."

Hawke grinned and lit the tip of his staff. "You didn't say you _didn't_ agree either. And the rules clearly state that if you don't want to take a bet, you have to say so. You can pay me later."

Fenris was very, very tempted to shove him over the cliff side. However, he still needed him, so his irritation would have to wait. He led the way into the dim cave, squinting as his eyes adjusted. Another straight path.

"I believe we're walking into a trap."

"Probably," Hawke agreed. "It's good though. No messing around. Just fight the demon and done."

"I wish I had your confidence," Fenris muttered.

It wasn't long before the path widened, opening into a large cavern so vast that Fenris couldn't see the roof. Or perhaps the cave simply opened to the night sky and that was the blackness he saw above. It was impossible to tell what anything truly was in this place. One thing he was certain of though, and that was the demon that stood before them. He'd seen desire demons before, but that didn't prepare him for the itching at the back of his brain. The idea that he could have whatever he wanted, whatever he thought he might need, if he only asked. Her influence was powerful and he would have to keep on his guard. Hawke, he was pleased to see, was on alert as well, staff held at the ready.

"Now boys," the demon purred. "Is that any way to greet a lady?"

"I don't see a lady here. Do you, Fenris?" Hawke asked, as they approached.

"No. I don't."

The demon tutted. "I can offer you a deal. You give me the boy-"

"No," Hawke said at once, and Fenris smirked, proud of him. "I don't make any deals with demons. Here's my offer. You let him go and we might consider not killing you. But not likely."

"Such a shame," she sighed.

Fenris ducked the blast of magic that came at him without warning. From the sound of Hawke's grunt, he made it out of the way in time as well. There was no more talking as they flanked her, dodging her attacks, the balls of crackling electricity and jets of flame that shot forth from her fingers and mouth. Fenris felt the sweat bead on his forehead and chest, soaking his tunic. He lunged forward, slashing with the sword, catching the demon's claws when she swiped, then dropped to a knee and thrust with the dagger, plunging it into her stomach. She howled in rage and pulled away only to be met with Hawke's staff, the strong and sturdy wood cracking across her jaw.

While she might have been more than a match for a ten year old boy, a mage just come into his power, it was clear she never fought against a team of their caliber. Trapped in the Fade, preying on the weak and simple, her experience was limited and the fight was over quickly with little fanfare. Hawke took the killing blow, driving the end of his staff through her chest. They watched her twitch, violently spasming before bursting into a million particles of darkness.

"Shit."

Fenris wiped his sweaty bangs off his forehead. "What?"

"I thought that was going to be a lot harder," Hawke admitted. "When we tell the story, can we lie and say she was extremely powerful?"

Fenris sighed. "You can tell it. I'll corroborate."

Hawke grinned. "This is why you're my favorite."

"No," Fenris said, watching the sword and dagger disappear from his hands. "It's because I'm the only one that tolerates your horrible sense of humor."

"There is that," Hawke agreed. "Let's get back."

-

Fenris stared at the ceiling, arms crossed underneath his head as he thought about the day that passed. Anders, armed with the knowledge of the spell that Jowan used to poison Eamon, reversed the illness. Connor didn't remember a thing about his possession and Isolde promised she would send him to the Circle for proper training. The undead fell as soon as the demon died and they spent the day giving the bodies proper send offs across the lake. Hundreds of burning corpses and Fenris could still smell it, even high above the lake and in the comfortable guest room Eamon gifted them for the night. He doubted he would sleep much and hoped they could return to Kirkwall soon.

"Fenris?" The door opened a crack and Dorian peered inside.

"I'm awake."

Dorian slipped in and shut the door behind him. He wore a silken robe no doubt 'borrowed' from the Arl, which tied at the waist and gave Fenris a generous view of his bare chest. "I am sorry to bother you."

Fenris smelled the anxiety on him and sat up, thinking he knew what this was about. "Have you fed?"

"I still have quite a bit of what Alexius gave me. However, I left my bag with the rest of our things in the village. If you prefer…"

"It's fine. Better to save it for when we're traveling and need our strength." Perhaps it would help him sleep if Dorian were to drink from him. "Come sit."

The relieved look on Dorian's face was much better than the apprehension, which didn't suit him at all. He crossed the room and sat next to Fenris, who tried not to notice how the fabric parted, revealing more dark skin underneath.

"Will it hurt?" Fenris asked. Not that he wasn't used to pain, but he wanted to be prepared.

"I don't think you actually feel it hurting," Dorian explained, a twinge of apology in his tone.

"I would prefer if you didn't drink from the lyrium lines."

"There are a few veins," Dorian said as Fenris held out his arms, which swirled with the lyrium. "Your neck might be easier in this case. If you don't mind."

Baring his neck to a vampire wasn't anything Fenris ever thought he would do, at least not willingly. But he pulled the wide neckline of his sleep shirt down. It was one of Bann Teagan's and already much too big, and slipped off his shoulder. He heard Dorian swallow and kept his eyes on his lips. An eager pink tongue darted from between them, lightly moistening before disappearing.

"I'll be brief," Dorian whispered.

Fenris tilted his head. Nothing prepared him for the pheromones. Embarrassingly, he felt his cock harden instantly and tried to ignore it. His brain became slightly fuzzy, a dizzying feeling overcoming him as Dorian leaned closer. Hot breath fell across his neck and he moaned softly, unable to help himself. A sharp prick of pain, but it didn't matter to him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the skillful tongue dancing over his flesh. Lips kissing, bruising his skin. Vaguely he realized Dorian's hand was on his knee and he arched into the touch, his body feeling alight with an odd fire.

"Yes," he gasped, in a voice that didn't sound like his.

Dorian pulled away briefly, then attacked again, the force of the bite pushing Fenris against the mattress. Fenris groaned, the heat of Dorian's body against his not quite enough. He thrust his hips, wanting more. But yet another part of him knew that if they didn't stop, he could very well die. Dorian whimpered, the hand that was on Fenris's knee moving to his stomach. Fenris fought against the pheromones and felt himself change, the fabric under Dorian's fingertips shifting into skin and fur. Dorian hissed, fangs extended, eyes black as the moonless sky. Fenris pounced, pinning him to the bed and it was a battle of strength and willpower.

Fenris won the struggle by sheer size alone. Even energized by the blood, Dorian was no match for the huge wolf. But Fenris also sensed wariness behind it all. Perhaps Dorian wasn't fighting as hard as he could have been, the underlying scent of, 'ally' prevalent over, 'enemy.' Fenris leaned down and licked his mouth, tasting the blood still on his lips. Dorian hissed again like an angry cat and Fenris licked him once more. Dorian closed his eyes, breathing agitatedly, but otherwise unmoving. Fenris, taking this as a submissive move, lowered himself slowly. He shifted only enough to ensure he wouldn't suffocate Dorian and tucked the man's head under his chin.

_I will keep the mages safe even from themselves. I will make sure they do not fall. Even if it means I have to hurt them._

This thought in mind, and exhausted from the day's events, Fenris fell asleep, curled in his wolf form on top of Dorian.


	5. Mel Gibson is an Asshole: Act 1

Word from Redcliffe was disturbing at best, but the message that everything passed quickly and no intervention on behalf of the royal army was necessary made Alistair breathe a little easier. Training the soldiers was one thing, leading them was something else entirely. And his reign hadn't been without strife. He hated the day to day paperwork, the toiling over decisions about landowner's rights. Inside court, the only thing he truly enjoyed was meeting with the people and listening to their woes, then figuring out how best to fix them. It was easier for him to see his subjects when they were there in front of him, rather than represented by little bits of paper. Which was why he enjoyed his time outside of the capital and left most of the daily duties to his advisors.

Eamon would have been a better choice for king. His sister had been queen, after all. Alistair appointed him regent immediately upon his coronation, and ten months out of the year, Eamon was in Denerim, leaving Redcliffe to Teagan. The hierarchy of how it all worked was lost to Alistair, who grew up being taught not to covet any political position. And that suited him just fine. He much preferred to don his armor and hit things really hard. Not that he hated being king, just that he wished things had turned out differently. Perhaps if Cailan hadn't died… But that was the problem, wasn't it?

"What are you doing?"

"Go away, Cailan, I'm busy."

"It looks like you're doodling pictures of breasts."

Alistair sighed and tossed down his quill pen. Perhaps if he went for a walk to clear his head he could wait outside for the 'experts' to arrive. He stood and pulled on his cloak, the rich brown one with the Theirin family crest embroidered on the back, and left the room. Cailan followed, his incorporeal form floating idly through the door that Alistair shut in his face.

"Is that any way to treat your brother?"

"You treated me the same when you were alive," Alistair said through gritted teeth.

"Your Majesty!"

Alistair nodded to those that greeted him and ignored the ones that gave him odd looks for talking to thin air. That was the real problem. While Cailan, a ghost or a spirit or something, being here wasn't necessarily an issue, the fact that only Alistair could see him was frustrating and embarrassing at times. People thought he was going insane. And maybe he was. Maybe Cailan wasn't actually a spirit, but a demon. Or just a figment of his imagination.

"Where are we going? You know I can't leave the castle grounds."

"And thank the Maker for that," Alistair said, and immediately regretted it when he saw the pout on Cailan's face.

It was true that when they were younger they'd met once and Cailan was more excited to see the armory than Alistair. Though to be fair, Cailan hadn't exactly known who he was. Nor was Alistair allowed to tell him. He didn't need this extra problem in his life right now. At least Eamon, who didn't think Alistair was crazy when he wrote about the issue, seemed to have an answer. He was sending 'experts' who helped with the problem at Redcliffe and they were due to arrive this evening. 

He left Cailan or the spirit or whatever it was at the gates and ignored the two guards that took up behind him. He didn't need bodyguards. For Andraste's sake, he'd helped kill an archdemon! He stopped a Blight! He could still wield a sword better than most men he knew. The sword he'd forgotten in his room. That should have been hanging in the empty scabbard at his hip. Well, he would welcome his bodyguards' company for tonight. But only for tonight.

Nodding at the courtyard guards, he stepped down the grand staircase that led into the outer yard and beyond the wall surrounding the palace. At first it was odd that the king would venture so far and so often, but the servants had all gotten used to his odd quirks. A stable boy tipped his hat when Alistair passed.

"Evening, Jack," Alistair greeted. He smiled when the boy's face lit up, pleased at the king remembering his name.

"Your Majesty," he said, and bowed. "Be wanting your horse?"

"Not tonight. No carriage either. How's your father?"

"Good, m'lord! I mean, Your Majesty," he corrected. "His leg's all better and the healer says he can go back to work next week."

Alistair fished a silver from his pocket. "Buy your mother something nice."

"Yes, m'lord! Thank you, m'lord! Your Majesty!"

Alistair hated the formalities, but Eamon assured him it was necessary. If people lacked respect for their king, they lacked respect for their country and rebellions started. Not that Alistair believed any of that, but Eamon wouldn't lie. Maybe he understood it differently than Alistair.

He walked the streets just outside the castle, pleased when the people who were performing their last minute shopping merely bowed or curtsied instead of dropping to their knees in the dirt. Overt displays of fealty unnerved him and it was widely known that he only required a cursory bit of courtesy. He was not the type of king to flog someone for accidentally bumping into him. Which happened suddenly as he was glancing at a merchant's stall, and he was knocked back a step. He grabbed the man's shoulder instinctively to steady him.

"Sorry-" the man started to say, when Alistair's guards leapt forward to subdue him.

"Wait!" Alistair tried, but the man's three companions drew their weapons at once, which meant so did his guards. "STOP!"

Alistair stepped between the two groups, taller than everyone there except the man who'd initially bumped him. He looked haggard, completely worn down, and less like an assassin or a beggar and just someone who needed a good night's sleep. The staff on his back was a bit unnerving, but Alistair wasn't going to make assumptions. Harrowed mages were frequent in larger cities like Denerim, though there were none in the castle. The two humans with him also carried staves, but the elf held an impressive-looking blade. Too expensive for any elf Alistair knew.

"Are you Hawke?" he asked.

The elf scoffed. "I have been mistaken for many things, but never that."

"You don't have to say it like it's an insult," said the man with black hair and full beard. He relaxed in his stance, looked Alistair up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "King Alistair?"

"So they keep telling me," Alistair said, looking at the man who bumped into him. "All right?"

"Fine," he said quickly, and stepped away from the guards, eyeing them warily.

"So much for a grand announcement at the palace," the third man said, his dark features and accent marking him as someone not of Ferelden. Antiva, maybe? Difficult to say. Alistair, who'd only ever been to Kirkwall and Val Royeaux, wasn't the expert.

"Eamon told me you were coming. I wanted a bit of a walk before meeting you. I guess we can talk on the way back."

"Sounds good to me," Hawke said, and gestured at the other two to sheathe their weapons.

"Maker's breath, put your swords away," Alistair ordered his guards. "If they assassinate me in the middle of the street for running over their friend, you can… I don't know. Mark my grave, 'I told you so.'" He noticed Hawke's smirk and felt slightly more at ease. Someone with a sense of humor couldn't be all bad. He gestured back toward the palace and fell into step with Hawke.

"Garrett Hawke, but Hawke's fine. My friend Fenris," he said, pointing back toward the elf. "My lover Anders-" The blond man Alistair bumped into blushed clearly even in the dim evening light. "And our… uh."

"Ally du jour," the dark-skinned man cut in. "Dorian of house Pavus, recently of Minrathous and all-around handsome, talented mage of the Tevinter Imperium."

That gave Alistair pause. The way people spoke of Tevinter, the rest of Thedas would be happy to see it burn. He'd personally only ever met one man of Tevinter, a slaver named Caladrius. The less Alistair thought about that, the better. Was this man a slaver then? He couldn't imagine that an elf would be so relaxed in his presence. Then again, Alistair had also seen elves sell one another out to save their own skin, so who knew?

"Eamon told us you had a problem but he didn't elaborate," Hawke said. "What's the issue?"

"It's… well, you'll see," Alistair said, feeling awkward at having to explain himself in the presence of the guards. They no doubt thought him crazy as well.

"Fair enough," Hawke said.

"Do you, er… do you take payment for your services?" Alistair had no idea how this worked.

"Room and board is fine. Maybe something for the road once we're finished. But we're largely an altruistic operation," Hawke explained. "Whatever you can spare."

"As king, I can spare quite a lot."

"A proper bed for once!" Dorian exclaimed. "Not that I don't love sleeping in a tent in the dirt and mud and dog shit."

"Not this again," Hawke sighed.

Before an argument could start up, they thankfully reached the gates of the palace. The guards left them just inside the walls, and Alistair showed them up the stairs.

"You weren't gone long," Cailan observed, sitting in the foyer.

Alistair gritted his teeth. It was now or never. They would either believe him or think he was insane. "I was meeting some friends."

"Evening," Hawke said, looking at Cailan. "Wait, you look familiar-"

"You can see him?" Alistair asked. "Really?"

"Of course I can. Can't you?"

Alistair looked at the other three. "And you all?"

"Yes," Anders said. He was frowning. "Can others not see him?"

"Not a one! They all thought I was insane."

"And they probably still do," Cailan said. "Standing around, shouting at air."

"Can you send him away?" Alistair asked.

"Can't you just… order him to go?" Dorian crossed his arms, head cocked. "This is your palace, isn't it?"

"Technically," Alistair explained, "it's his. He's my brother. King Cailan."

Hawke startled. "King… Cailan. He died at Ostagar. His body was burned and the country went into mourning for weeks. I remember because-" He shut up abruptly, as if he was afraid of betraying a secret. "That would make you…" And before anyone could stop him, he shoved a fist through Cailan's chest. It passed through harmlessly.

"Rude," Cailan scoffed. "Some friends you have, little brother."

"Can you help me exorcise him?" Alistair asked.

"Wait, who said anything about exorcising?" Cailan sounded worried. "I quite like it here."

"You're leaving one way or another!"

"You can't make me. This is MY castle!"

"It is worse than watching you and Carver argue," Fenris intoned, glancing at Hawke, who grinned and shrugged.

Before Alistair could answer, Cailan disappeared. "Great. Now he's gone to sulk. Maybe I'll get a break." He sighed and looked at Hawke. "Well? Do you think you can do it?"

"Of course we can!" Hawke said. "We'll get started after a good meal and maybe a hot bath. Perhaps a nap if that's okay."

"Oh! Of course. I'll talk to the um… someone about getting you a room. Follow me."

"Don't you worry Your Majesty," Hawke assured him, "we know exactly what we're doing."

-

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Hawke admitted, once they were safely in their own suite away from prying eyes and ears.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Fenris said, tossing his gear into a corner before heading toward the bathing chamber.

Anders followed, eager to wash the road from him and get into a clean outfit. Having Justice manipulated in such a way back at Castle Redcliffe unnerved him and left him weak and shaking. And then traveling for so long after with no real time to recover? He was exhausted. Luckily Fenris was happy to fill the two large sunken stone tubs, pumping the water quickly, which Anders heated.

Hawke answered the knock on the door, letting in several servants who left huge platters of cold meat, bread, fruit, and an abundance of cheese. They also dropped several fluffy towels and robes before leaving. Dorian looked mournfully at the food and Hawke followed the other two into in the bathing room, stripping shamelessly.

"Alright Mr. Know-It-All," Hawke said, tossing his shirt in Fenris's face. "You tell me. How do you exorcise an honest to goodness ghost? I didn't even think they existed."

Anders kept his back to the door, though he knew that modesty was impossible among his traveling companions. Besides, it wasn't as if Hawke hadn't seen him naked already. He lowered himself into the almost scalding water and hissed in pleasure as it relaxed his sore muscles. Fenris stepped into the one across from his.

"Fenris, shove over," Hawke joked.

Fenris scowled at him. "You'll keep the overt displays to a minimum."

Hawke grinned and stepped into the tub with Anders. Anders scooted forward for him and Hawke's legs stretched out on either side of him. A warm, wet hand brushed against his back, followed by a soapy washcloth.

"You can do me after," Hawke said.

"I bet," Dorian muttered from the doorway, leaning casually against the wall, watching.

"You getting in?" Anders asked.

"Seems to be all full up. I'll wait."

Anders noticed the blush to Fenris's cheeks but said nothing. Something happened between the two of them. He was fairly sure of it. They'd been quiet with one another, almost careful, dodging. He wondered if it would ever be like that with him and Hawke. Their courtship – If one could call it that – was a few kisses, an admittance of strange attraction and feelings, and then sex. They spoke of their past and their hopes for the future and Hawke invited him every chance he got to come live with him. But would that change once they found RTD and stopped him? Would Hawke forget about him? Was he a passing dalliance?

"You're tensing," Hawke whispered. "All right?"

"I've never exorcised a spirit," Fenris said. "However, that has to be what he is. Cailan is dead. Ghosts do not exist."

"I'm not sure." Dorian tapped a finger thoughtfully against his lips. "I've seen stranger things. It's possible ghosts exist."

"Just thinking," Anders whispered back.

Hawke pulled him to lie against him, back to chest, and he slowly drew the cloth over his stomach. "Relax."

"Or," Fenris continued, irritated, "the simplest explanation will suffice." He looked at Hawke for backup, and scowled to see his friend distracted. "Hawke."

"Spirit, possibly. Could be something we've never seen before. We'll need to do some heavy research before we go in after it. Especially if it doesn't want to go back, whatever it is and wherever it came from."

"What harm is it doing?" Anders asked, resting his head on Hawke's shoulder. He closed his eyes, feeling drowsy but also mildly aroused despite the fact that they weren't alone.

"The king seems to want him gone, and it is his palace," Dorian pointed out. "If he's the only one who can see him, it might be for the best."

"Why is that?" Hawke said. "Alistair can see him but so can we."

"We're mages," Anders muttered. He jerked when Hawke's hand drew too close to his groin, and grabbed it warningly. "And Fenris's lyrium likely affects his ability to see it as well."

Fenris washed and rinsed his hair, trying to ignore their squirming. "Are there no other mages here?"

"Not likely," Anders answered, slightly bitter. "The king's advisors wouldn't want a mage getting close to him. Just in case."

Dorian scoffed. "As if a non-magical person couldn't easily enough kill the king."

"Exactly!" Anders said, opening his eyes. "They're just bigoted. They hate mages because we're different. Because we-"

"How do we get rid of it?" Fenris cut in.

Anders scowled. Hawke squeezed him gently around the middle and kissed his neck. He only felt slightly placated, and sighed.

"Research. After a bit of sleep," Hawke said.

Fenris, finished with his bath, stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. "And food."

"And food," Hawke agreed. "You?" he asked Dorian.

Dorian shook his head. "I'll clean up later. I'm going to inquire about their library to see if there are any leads on what this spirit or ghost might be. Fenris, do you wish to join me?"

"...Perhaps."

The door shut, and Hawke and Anders were alone. Anders sat up and turned in the tub, facing Hawke now, legs stretched out over his.

"Did they seem a bit tense?" Hawke asked.

"A bit."

"...If he hurt Fenris-"

Anders smiled.

"What?" Hawke soaped up the washcloth again and started to scrub his chest.

"You're cute when you get protective," Anders said, and shifted to his knees. "Let me."

Hawke relinquished the cloth and leaned back to let him. "Dorian might be part of our group for now, but he's replaceable."

"No, he's not," Anders said, dragging the cloth along Hawke's chest, watching the soap catch the dark hair. He slid forward, straddling Hawke's thighs and was very pleased to see through the water that he was hard.

Hawke scowled. "Fine. I guess you're right." He took Anders by the waist, sliding his hands back to cup his ass and pulled him forward. "I form attachments too quickly, maybe. Even to assholes like him."

"...To me?" Anders asked, one hand on Hawke's shoulder, frowning. "Hawke, if you want to stop this-"

"Never," Hawke said, and cut him off with a deep kiss.

Anders lost himself momentarily against Hawke, pressing down impishly, their cocks sliding together in the soapy water. "Mm. I'm serious though. If you think we moved too fast, or if you want to stop-"

"Anders, shut up." Hawke kissed him again, softer this time, and then looked at him seriously. "I know we rushed it. These last few weeks though? Everything felt right. Don't ever doubt that for a second. What I feel for you? Might have started out as a stupid crush, but… Anders, you're sweet. You're soft. Kind. You help people. You always care. You ask everyone how they're doing, even Fenris who… yeah, well, he's kind of a prick to you sometimes and I'm sure he'll get over it. But you're so patient and you're so… bloody good. I just feel like if I ever let you go, I would be the dumbest man in all of Thedas. So stop talking about leaving me or me leaving you. Because it's just not going to happen, all right?"

Anders swallowed hard against the well of emotion. Hawke knew what he was, what he was capable of, and his weaknesses. But he was there time and time again, taking care of him, reassuring him. He'd always yearned for this kind of acceptance. Almost found it with Karl, before Justice happened. He could have it with Hawke if only he let himself. Hawke pulled him down for another kiss and the hand that cupped his backside squeezed teasingly.

Food and research, he decided, could wait a bit longer. For now, he was content with Hawke.


	6. Mel Gibson is an Asshole: Act 2

They watched Alistair nervously pace his study, hands clasped behind his back. Researching the method to exorcise a ghost-maybe-spirit had been daunting. In the end, Hawke contacted Alexius via the runestone and they got their answer within an hour.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Alistair asked, finally looking at them. "You just… bind him to an object and send him away?"

"That's it," Hawke said. At least that was how Alexius explained it. "It has to be a significant object though. Something he was close to when he was alive. Something that meant something to him."

Alistair frowned, then contemplated the three rings on his fingers, taking one off. "This belonged to our father. Cailan wore it every day since he was old enough to."

Hawke took it from him. A simple gold band with the Theirin family crest engraved on it. "This'll work. Now, where is he? We can get started as soon as we find him."

"Er, yes," Alistair said, shifting uncomfortably. "That part might be a little more difficult. You see, he's gone."

"Problem solved, then!" Dorian said happily. "We can finally go home!"

Hawke glared at him before addressing Alistair. "What do you mean gone? He's bound here, isn't he? He can't just go back to wherever he came from."

"No, no, he's still here. He's just not _here_."

"That clears that up," Dorian muttered.

Anders spoke before Hawke could interrupt. "How do you know he's still here if you haven't seen him?"

"He's been terrorizing the staff. Of course they can't see him so they think it's a demon or something worse. Pots and pans getting rattled, things getting tossed on the floor."

"This is the former king?" Fenris said quietly. "More like a petulant child."

"Like Carver when he couldn't get what he wanted," Hawke agreed. "Only he did eventually grow out of that."

"Imagine yourself in his position," Anders said. "He's scared. He doesn't want to go back. Or maybe he does, but he's frightened that it might hurt."

"Justice gives you insight to that?" Hawke asked.

Anders's eyes widened dramatically, glancing at Alistair before looking back to Hawke warningly. "No. It's human nature."

Hawke grinned a bit sheepishly and reached out, fingers brushing against Anders' hand. "So how do we find our errant king?"

"I don't know," Anders admitted. He looked at Alistair. "You'll have to convince him we mean no harm."

"How do I do that?"

"You're brothers, aren't you?" Hawke asked.

Alistair frowned. "Well, sure, but only because our father… that's beside the point. It's not as if we grew up together or anything."

"You must've known what he was like," Hawke pushed. "What he liked, what he didn't like. Any clues that could tell us where he might be."

A sharp knock on the door interrupted them and a harried-looking man glanced in. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Your Majesty, but it's happening again! In the armory. Our soldiers were training and… Well, you'd better come see."

"Cailan," Alistair sighed. "Well that's one way of finding him."

They followed him out of the study. As they approached the armory, they heard the commotion, the clanging of metal and the surprised shouts of the guards inside. The door burst open and two men ran past them, looking terrified.

"Where are you going?" Alistair called after them.

They stopped, turned, and had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Your Majesty!" one said, bowing quickly and awkwardly. The other followed suit. "We, the spirit… or demon or whatever it is. It's-"

A loud, resounding crash echoed in the room behind them. Alistair waved the men on and the led the way into the armory, ducking a plate metal helmet that came straight for his head. He glared up at Cailan, who sat atop a balcony, perched on the railing. Cailan crossed his arms angrily.

"Stop this!" Alistair ordered.

"No," Cailan returned, standing on the railing now. He summoned over a cuirass, and lifting it high over his head, threw it down at them.

They scattered as it crashed into the stone floor and skittered away, dented in three places.

"We just want to help," Anders said, his tone imploring. "Please, Your Majesty."

The title gave Cailan pause. "I'm not the king anymore."

"You still deserve the respect," Anders continued.

The others fell silent, though Hawke exchanged a look with Fenris, neither of them possessing the patience it would take to talk down an angry, churlish spirit from throwing a tantrum.

"We don't want to hurt you."

"No?" Cailan scoffed. "You're a mage. And you have other mages with you. And you're going to exorcise me."

"Don't you want to go home?" Anders asked.

Cailan frowned, a pained expression as he contemplated this. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because the one who summoned me controls me. I _can't_ leave."

"Who summoned you?" Alistair asked.

"It's-" Cailan cut off with a cry, his ghostly figure flickering wildly before solidifying. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, without a trace of whimsy. " **LEAVE ME ALONE!** "

He flew recklessly upward, through the ceiling.

"What in Andraste's name was that all about?" Alistair breathed.

"At a guess?" Dorian ventured. "Probably whoever summoned him here cast a powerful spell to keep him from revealing the truth."

"Then we really should figure out who it is," Hawke said. "They likely have a rather nefarious reason."

"But if they're controlling Cailan, why give him so much free will?" Anders asked. "Why not just order him to… I'm not sure. Kill Alistair?"

Alistair paled considerably, as if the idea never occurred to him. "Other than throwing a few things on the floor, Cailan hasn't been too violent. Do you really think he's been sent here to kill me?"

Anders shook his head. "Not kill. Distract, perhaps. From the bigger plan. Whatever that is."

"So somewhere some evil mastermind is rubbing his hands together, laughing maniacally at his own genius?" Dorian asked.

"Probably stroking a cat while he does so," Hawke added.

"Do not encourage one another," Fenris groaned.

"We need to go look for him," Anders said. "Maybe split up. I'll go with Alistair."

"I'll come with you," Hawke said quickly.

Anders smiled. "Of course. Your Majesty?"

"We should start with the kitchens," Alistair said. "That's where I found him the first time. He was sad because he couldn't taste anything."

"Such a tragedy when you're dead," Hawke said. He gave Fenris a light punch on the shoulder. "Come running if you find anything." Then, to Dorian, "You take care of him."

Dorian scoffed in response and they split into two groups to search for the missing Cailan.

-

"So do you believe our relationship will continue to be awkward or shall we have a chat about it?" Dorian asked after searching the third empty corridor. He had his staff, the tip alight with a ball of white magic, which was helpful as the torches lining the walls were burning somewhat low.

Fenris grunted.

Dorian sighed. Since the night they spent together in Redcliffe, they'd been dancing around one another, avoiding having a difficult conversation. It was his responsibility though. He was the one who nearly lost control. _Did_ lose control. "I… apologize for my actions that evening."

Fenris remained silent, eyes fixed firmly ahead.

"Clearly I thought I could handle it, when I could not. I should have been more careful. The tests we ran in Tevinter showed we could both control ourselves, however-"

"Drop it."

"I will not," Dorian pressed. "I will not have us at odds like this. I intend to see this through to the end, but if you prefer I'd go home, if my presence makes you uncomfortable…"

Fenris stopped and looked at him. "No."

"Well, we're going to talk about this." Dorian propped his staff against the wall and crossed his arms. "At the very least, you're going to hear my apology."

"I've heard it."

"And?"

Fenris sighed. "We were both weak."

"You weren't. You stopped me."

"It took more effort than I thought."

"I never thought I would be… subdued in that manner," Dorian admitted. He wouldn't, however, admit that he quite liked it. To give up power and control like that? He enjoyed letting Fenris take care of him, so to speak. It was also a bit scary and he needed to know he could trust him fully. "You wouldn't take advantage."

"No. I protect my allies, not endanger them."

"Hence why I wanted to apologize. You're my ally." Dorian sighed. "No. You're my friend. And Anders."

"And Hawke?"

"...Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Fenris snorted. "He's a good man."

Dorian shifted, one hand on his hip now, looking at Fenris dubiously. "Good is subjective. But you're changing the subject."

"I accept your apology at the same time I find it wholly unnecessary."

"Thank you."

"Next time, we'll be more careful."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Next time?"

"It…" Fenris exhaled, his breath fluttering through his bangs. "It wasn't unpleasant."

"It wasn't, was it?"

Fenris's eyes narrowed as Dorian took a tentative step forward, but he did not move away. Libido moving faster than his brain, Dorian leaned in and was surprised when Fenris met him, their lips brushing together so briefly in a whisper of a kiss. Fenris stepped back.

"We're on a mission."

"Of course."

But the silence that followed as they continued to look for Cailan was, at least, no longer awkward.

-

When they found Cailan finally, it was after they'd regrouped and searched the grounds together. He was sitting under an apple tree in one of the courtyards, head tilted back, eyes closed. Anders held up a hand for the others to hang back while Alistair approached and knelt down to look at him.

"I miss it."

"Miss what?" Alistair asked.

Cailan looked at him, smiling faintly. "This. The palace. Court life. Maybe not all of it," he relented. "But the battles. The fights. Leading the army. Adventuring with the Grey Wardens. I wish I could've had what you did."

"You do?" Alistair was surprised. He didn't think anyone would've traded their life for his. He always thought himself as completely uninteresting.

"You fought with the Hero of Ferelden. You killed an archdemon. You stopped the Blight. I always wanted to be that hero. After growing up, listening to tales of our father, how he saved Ferelden from the Orlesians and all the glory he earned."

"You do make it sound pretty glamorous," Alistair admitted. "But it's not that exciting. The paperwork alone."

Cailan laughed. "I know. At least you don't have to worry about a queen. Or do you?"

Alistair grimaced. "Don't remind me. Eamon is constantly telling me I need to find a respectable woman and marry and have little Alistairs."

"The last thing you want is a respectable woman," Cailan joked.

Alistair blushed, feeling the heat rise in his face. This was the first time he actually had an honest to goodness conversation with an actual member of his family. He didn't want to talk about sex or his lack of experience. Especially with a group of relative strangers behind him. And while it might be nice to have Cailan around to talk to, he simply didn't belong there. "Are you ready to go back?"

Cailan nodded. "I think so."

"I promise we'll do our best to make sure you go without any discomfort."

Cailan stood, and Alistair with him. "I thought you should know."

"What's that?"

"Duncan says he's proud of you."

Alistair pursed his lips together, just narrowly keeping the rather unkingly noise from escaping them. He gave a quick nod. "Thank you."

Cailan sighed and looked over at the group. "Well. Let's get this over with."


	7. Mel Gibson is an Asshole: Act 3

Grateful as King Alistair was for their help, he threw a grand banquet in their honor the very next day. It started roughly around noon and was still going strong almost ten hours later. Hawke, who reported to Alexius about their success in exorcising Cailan, asked if he had any information on who might have summoned him. If, like Anders suspected, they had done so to keep the kingdom's leaders busy while cooking up something else, then they needed to be on alert. With the king's invitation to stay for a few more days and no other real leads regarding RTD, Hawke decided they were in need of a break. Especially after their last excursion with the undead and the demon.

Also, the king had a very nice spread of food and assorted alcohol, and Hawke thought a bit of indulgence was in order. Which was why he was draped over Anders, sitting more or less in his lap though he was sure his butt was in his own seat. He rubbed his beard against Anders' cheek and kissed him, or tried to. Anders laughed and pushed at him.

"Hawke, stop."

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk."

"You still love me even if I'm drunk," Hawke said, wondering if he was slurring his words. But he sounded in complete control of his speech. Just in case, he decided to reiterate the point, more slowly than before. "I am drunk but you love me."

Anders cupped his cheek and kissed him softly, but too briefly. "Yes," he said quietly. "It's just a shame you're not going to remember this in the morning. Not to mention you'll have an awful head."

"Worth it," Hawke said, sipping his drink before handing it to Anders. "You must have had three times the amount of me! As me," he corrected himself.

"Justice doesn't let me get drunk," Anders explained.

"Ohhh. That's sad."

"It's all right. Someone needs to look after you."

Hawke, who realized he wasn't going to get any more kisses for the time being, opted to put his head on Anders' shoulder instead. He made a contented noise like a purring cat when Anders started to gently scratch at his scalp.

"Fenris is with Dorian," Hawke sighed. He watched Dorian across the room talking to Fenris. Though drunk, Hawke knew body language quite well. The way they leaned in to talk to one another, the smile on Dorian's face. How Fenris didn't look all annoyed and angry like he usually did. "Don't know what he sees in him."

"Dorian's an accomplished mage," Anders said. "He's powerful and polite. Most of the time. And I expect there's a bit of sympathy there."

"Because they were both spearmints."

"Yes, Hawke."

"So were you but you don't like Dorian." He had to make sure. "You only like me."

Anders laughed. He had a very nice laugh. "I like quite a few people, Hawke."

"But me best."

"Yes. You best."

"Not Dorian." He had to make sure. Again.

"No, I don't like Dorian better than you. Maybe we should go back to the room."

Hawke perked up. "For sex?"

Anders sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, Hawke. You're drunk. We're going to sleep."

"Nooooo," Hawke said, putting his cup down. He reached up to make Anders look at him. "I'm not ready for sleep yet. There's a party going on." He paused. "In my pants."

Anders hung his head exasperatedly. "Hawke, Maker's breath, what am I going to do with you?"

"I could name a hundred and three things but you said no sex. Does Justice not want you to have sex either?"

"Mm." Anders reached over Hawke and picked up his cup. He drained it in two swallows. "He thinks it's a distraction."

"It is! But it's fun."

"Yes, quite."

"Anders," Hawke said seriously, "I like sex with you."

Anders laughed again. He seemed to be doing it a lot, and Hawke was quite pleased. "I like sex with you too, Hawke."

"When I'm sober-"

"Then we can have more, yes," Anders said, as if reading his mind.

"Do you think Fenris and Dorian are having sex?"

Anders made a face. "Hawke, no offense, but I really don't want to think about Fenris having sex."

Hawke mimicked the face. "You're right. Never mind. It would be like… like thinking about Carver having sex. Disgusting."

"You don't talk about him much."

"Nothing to talk about," Hawke said, taking the cup from him, and frowned when he found it empty. "You drank my beer."

"Trust me, it was better this way."

"Am I going to regret this when I wake up?"

"Probably not. Like I said, you aren't going to remember this when you wake up."

"If I have a hangover will you heal it?"

"No."

Hawke made a show of pouting. "You're a healer, you're supposed to heal people."

"From grievous injuries and illnesses. Not their own bad habits."

"But what if I wake up and have a hangover and then a dozen bandits burst into the room and I can't defend you because my head is pounding and I feel sick?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "I expect they'll tie me up and carry me off."

Hawke snuggled close, clinging. "They'll… they'll compromise your virtue!"

"Hawke, what?"

"Bandits are evil, Anders, and so are hangovers."

"Maker only knows how Fenris deals with you drunk."

"I don't cuddle Fenris drunk."

"Or sober, I'd imagine," Anders said, carefully pushing Hawke's legs off his. "Can you stand?"

"Yes. Where are we going?"

"Outside. You need some air."

"I like outside. Can Fenris come too?" Hawke got unsteadily to his feet, and was happy to lean against Anders for balance.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea."

They meandered across the large hall, the crowd of people parting for them. Anders nodded to those that thanked them and wondered if they'd been told exactly what 'special services to the crown' they performed. More likely Alistair kept the whole thing a secret, or explained they were the reason there would be no more disturbances in the armory.

"Are you all right?" Fenris asked as they approached. Then he looked at Anders. "How much has he had to drink?"

"I'm not a child," Hawke said, poking Fenris in the chest. "I can drink whenever I like."

"I'm going to get drunk just from the fumes off your breath," Fenris said, leaning back.

Hawke leaned in and breathed heavily on him, laughing when Fenris shoved him away. "We're going outside and you're coming with us."

"He needs the air," Anders sighed. "Maybe some bread."

"Should have stuck with the wine." Dorian put his own glass down, and plucked a roll of hard bread from the table, handing it to Anders. "It's terribly watered down. I thought Ferelden was all about thick food and drink."

"Do Fereldans taste different to you?" Hawke asked, forgetting his momentary dislike of Dorian.

"Anders did, but I'm not sure that counts."

Hawke scowled. "I forgot about that. What about Fenris?"

"Hawke," Fenris warned. "Eat your bread."

"Still not a child," Hawke protested, but tore a chunk off and popped it in his mouth.

"Fenris is not Fereldan," Dorian said as they exited the hall and made their way out of the palace.

"Does he taste different because he's an elf?"

"Hawke," Fenris said again in the same tone.

Dorian looked at Fenris, contemplating. "I think it might be the lyrium, actually. Regardless, I don't believe anyone appreciates being talked about as if they were food."

"This bread is delicious and I'm going to eat it, whether or not its feelings are hurt by my talking about how delicious it is." Hawke tore off another chunk. "Sorry," he whispered to it, before eating it.

"If he's this fun when he's drunk, we should carry an emergency flask," Dorian quipped, a little bounce in his step.

"He gets worse," Fenris sighed. "During a ball the knight-commander held once-"

"Oh no, no, no," Hawke said, reaching up and shoving the bread against Fenris's lips. "No talky."

"I'd like to hear it," Anders said.

Hawke turned on him. "Traitor. You're supposed to back me up. No one wants to hear about the no pants incident."

Dorian smirked. "Well. Now Fenris has to tell it. There's nothing more riveting than a tale where someone ends up pantsless."

"Fenris won't tell it because Fenris likes me better than you," Hawke declared.

Anders rubbed his forehead vigorously with his fingertips. "I'm tempted to sober you up right now with a spell, but I expect this will make for good blackmail material later."

Fenris let out a quick, quiet laugh. "Quite."

"That's rude, Fenris," Hawke informed him. "We're best friends."

"And you like making my life miserable."

"Not miserable. Fun."

"The next time we're neck deep in 'fun' I'll enjoy myself by reminding you of what an ass you're being right now."

Hawke shrugged. "Anders says I won't remember it anyway."

"The fact that you are unable to feel embarrassed by anything you do-"

"Except the pantsless story," Dorian interjected. "Still waiting to hear that one."

"It was raining," Fenris began, when Hawke lunged at him. Fenris, who was still sober, dodged easily and Hawke sprawled on the dusty road.

"Ow," Hawke complained, rolling to his back. "Ow, Anders!"

"That," Anders said, offering him a hand up, "was your own fault."

Hawke pulled Anders down to the ground and leaned up for a kiss, pleased when Anders allowed it. He heard Fenris sigh from somewhere above him and made a rude hand gesture in his general direction before letting Anders go. On his second attempt, he made it to his feet with little help.

"You know, you're just jealous because you want to do that to Dorian," Hawke said, and knew he was right when Fenris fell silent and didn't look at him. "I'm teasing."

"There will be opportunity later," Dorian said. "Perhaps when you aren't being tactless. Though I expect griffons will return to Thedas before _that_ happens."

"Oh, go choke on your moustache." Hawke yawned widely. "It's cold out here. Maybe we should turn in for the night. We're heroes after all."

"It was a little sad though," Anders said. "Alistair finally gets to talk to his brother and then loses him."

"Brothers are important," Hawke agreed, and slung his arm over Fenris's shoulders.

Fenris, despite himself, smiled a bit. "I expect the king is grateful, regardless. He was able to have a proper farewell."

"That's true," Hawke said. "I would be upset if I couldn't say goodbye to Carver. That's why you never part angry."

"Quite."

"Shall we head back then?" Anders asked, glancing around the streets. "Before we get lost. I think we're in the uh, less desirable part of the city."

"Is there any part of Denerim in which one desires to be?" Dorian asked, raising a haughty eyebrow.

"Look, Mister High Fashion Moustache-" Hawke started.

"You've already gotten in a dig at the moustache," Dorian reminded him.

"Mister High Heeled Buckled Boots," Hawke said, not missing a beat.

But before he could properly wind up for his insult, a woman's scream echoed through the dark alley. They looked at one another, Hawke immediately sobering, and started off toward the sound at a run.


	8. Showgirls: Act 1

Though the night was dark, the city was still awake in what was referred to slyly as the 'Red Chantry District.' Candles covered by paper lanterns of different colors sat in the windows of different businesses and Anders vaguely recalled what each one meant. Red was for men seeking women. White was for women seeking men. Green, he thought was men for men while amber was the same for ladies. Other colors whose meanings were lost blurred in his vision as they ran down the street toward the alley where they heard the woman scream.

"Get away from her!" Hawke bellowed as they gained the mouth of the alley.

A black figure glanced up then took off at breakneck speed, disappearing into the darkness. Anders hurried toward the woman who shouted and covered her face with her arms.

"We're not going to hurt you," Anders soothed, kneeling down. She scrambled back and he held his hand out imploringly.

"Get away!" she cried. "Go!"

Dorian approached slowly. "Come now, it's all right. Anders is a healer. He can help you."

She lowered her arms and in the dim light from the lanterns in the windows above the alley, Anders saw the tears shining on her face. He also saw the blood on her neck and frowned.

"You're hurt. Let me see."

"No! Please, I… I'm fine."

"We're not going to report you for anything," Anders urged. He knew that many of his own patients didn't seek medical attention until it was too late because they were often afraid of being turned in for doing something illegal. "We're just visitors the city. Passers-by. I just want to make sure you're all right. Please."

She glanced from Anders to Dorian, and Anders saw the flat black of her eyes.

_Vampire?_

"Please don't hurt me. I didn't do anything. He just came out of nowhere and tried to… to…"

"Another blood mage?" Fenris seethed. "I can smell it on her."

"You're so callous," Dorian said, and knelt down next to Anders. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and conjured a small wisp so she could see his own eyes, his own supernatural transformation. "Tell me your story?"

Anders saw her relax as she recognized Dorian for what he was. "What happened to you?"

"I… I made a mistake. Three years ago. I didn't realize what I was getting into. I was paid a lot of money and I… I don't want to be thrown into a Circle. I'm not even a mage! It was just a mistake!"

Anders inhaled sharply. "Who attacked you? Did you see his face?"

She shook her head. "No, it was too dark. Please. I just want to go back to my job. I only came out here because I thought he wanted to hire me."

Anders took in her outfit, her very revealing black dress and high-heeled shoes. He could guess what she meant. "Let us walk you back. May I heal your wounds?"

Fenris looked at Hawke, scowling. "Hawke, inviting another vampire into our-"

"We're just helping out someone in need," Hawke said, scrubbing a hand over his face. While still drunk, the seriousness of the situation sobered him dramatically. "Is she all right, Anders?"

"Just a scrape," Anders said, healing her wounds with a wave of his hand. He and Dorian helped her to her feet and she clung slightly to both of them. "Which way?"

"The Pearl," she admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

"Truly?" Anders asked. "I haven't been to the Pearl in-"

"The whorehouse?" Hawke asked, feeling slightly jealous. "When did you visit the whorehouse?"

"We didn't know one another."

"Still…" Hawke frowned. "Wait. If you were there, did you know Isabela? She told me she used frequent it."

Anders went a little red as they walked through the street. "I didn't exactly get names, Hawke."

"Oho! So our dashing healer was a playboy in his younger years? Shame we didn't meet then," Dorian teased.

Hawke glared. "He has better taste anyway. Er, I mean. No offense, Fenris." He looked rather sheepish.

Fenris scowled. "Hope your leather boot tastes delicious. Ass," he added, under his breath.

"It wasn't like that," Anders hurried to explain. "I went in for a drink and I ended up becoming a…"

"Courtesan?" Dorian ventured.

"No. More like a therapist. The women needed someone to confide in and someone to look out for them. Sometimes I sat in on sessions with men who had problems and… You honestly can't find any of this interesting." Anders was safe in the Pearl for roughly a month on one of his escape attempts from the Circle. He'd been working to save coin for passage to Kirkwall when he was caught again. One of the last times he escaped before solitary, before his Harrowing and his eventual – legal – ejection from the Circle.

"On the contrary, I find it fascinating. What did you do?" Dorian asked.

Hawke stepped up to walk next to Anders, brushing his shoulder against his lover's, as if to remind him he was there.

"I showed the women some tricks. Not a few were mages. How to um… please their clients. And defend themselves if need be."

"The Madame tries to teach us," the woman said. "But she'd probably welcome someone like you!"

"Oh, no," Anders said. "I'm done with that. That was just something to help me earn coin for… well, other things. Though she should hire a bodyguard or two if this is the way her women are treated."

"Perhaps you should find a different profession," Fenris said. "Though I imagine no one wants to hire a vampire."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, glancing back at him. "Are we forgetting something?"

Fenris scowled and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"It's true though," the woman insisted. "No one will hire us. So the Madame takes us in. She treats us well and pays us fairly. Not like the last one."

"This Madame," Hawke started.

"Isabela."

Hawke looked at her, shocked. "Rivani woman. Used to be a pirate. Long black hair, lots of gold jewelry. Really big… assets," he finished, when Anders shot him a look.

"She doesn't dress that way anymore," the woman said. "She came in with loads of coin, bought the place, saying she had a second chance and she wasn't going to waste it."

"Well… damn," Hawke said, impressed. He'd let Isabela go a long time ago after a dispute with Qunari who wanted her as compensation after she stole a book of theirs. After sparing her life, he gave her some money to start a new life and she left, promising him she would. "Good for her."

"But… there's a problem," the woman said, as they approached the front door of the Pearl. "She'll explain it. Business is bad and… maybe you can help!"

"Helping people and killing people is what we do best," Hawke agreed, and they followed her inside.

-

"Oh my," Isabela purred as the four of them walked into her office. "It must be my lucky day." She leaned back, crossing her long legs, arm draped over the back of her chair. "Is it Hawke come to see me? Finally."

"What d'you mean, 'Finally'?" Hawke asked. "It's not like you ever wrote me a damned letter."

"No, I was too busy having sex," she said. "While you were doing what? Making Kirkwall a better place for everyone?"

"Someone's gotta clean up everyone else's messes," Hawke said, somewhat irritated.

"Oh don't be like that," she said, and stood, stretching. Her outfit would have been almost professional, black leather pants and boots, a fancy silken tunic cinched with a blood red belt. But the generous dip in the neckline showed off more cleavage than was actually proper. "Come here."

Hawke did as he was told and they embraced as old friends. Anders narrowed his eyes just a fraction, his jaw set. Isabela turned to him and looked him up and down.

"Did you bring me new employees, Hawke? How generous. This one will make _lots_ of money."

"He's not for sale," Hawke growled.

"Really, Hawke," Anders said, exasperated. "I can defend myself."

"More's the pity." Isabela winked at Anders. "And this one?" She stepped up to Dorian, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Ah," Dorian laughed, reaching back and taking her wrists. "I'm afraid you'd find me somewhat disappointing in my 'service' to you." He gently removed her arms from his shoulders, causing her to pout.

Before she could even look at Fenris, Hawke said, "And he'll sooner rip the throats or hearts from your clients. Isabela, this is business."

"Oh very well. But we can still have a drink, can't we?" She took a bottle of wine from the shelf and set out several glasses, frowning when both Anders and Dorian declined. "Really, Hawke. You need to hang out with more exciting people. Do I need to come back to Kirkwall to stir up trouble?"

Hawke scoffed and sat down across from her. "No. Please. Kirkwall's getting along just fine without you. What I was wondering was about your girl who brought us here. She was attacked in an alley."

Isabela paused, her glass halfway to her lips. "Fucking bastard." She sipped. "Someone's been targeting my employees. Specifically the ones with problems."

"Problems?" Anders asked. "Vampires? How many are here?"

She shook her head. "Not telling. Don't have to tell. Better this way. Trust me. With all the trouble I've already had with the guards knocking down my doors, the templars looking for apostates? The less you know, the safer we are."

"We still want to help," Hawke pressed.

Fenris made a disapproving sort of noise and returned the look Hawke gave him. "This isn't relevant to what our mission is, Hawke."

"And I say it is."

"He might have a point," Dorian said, drawing disbelieving stares from the other three. "No, hear me out. That business back at the palace. It was a distraction. The city is vast, but surely we would have heard something about these attacks if they're that numerous." He looked at Isabela. "How many?"

Her dark lips tightened into a frown, and she sipped her wine before answering. "Tonight would make seven in the last month. Not all women, but all of them were different."

"Vampires?" Hawke pressed, emphasizing Anders' earlier question.

"Not just them. Regular mages. Anyone who's been altered in a way. I had an ex-templar. He went missing."

Anders bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying, 'Good.' Whatever was attacking these people was also taking them. "Do they turn up dead?" He hoped the answer was no, but if he could examine the bodies, he might find out what was killing them.

"No," Isabela sighed. "They just disappear. And it's not only my place. It's the entire Red Chantry District. Walkers, courtesans, from the high to the low, men and women, all races."

"And the guards aren't doing anything?" Hawke asked, fists clenched. If it was Kirkwall, he knew Aveline would've been all over it.

"Are you insane?" Isabela asked, suddenly angry. "Do you know what calling the guards down here would do? They barely tolerate this quarter as it is. Where else are they going to get their jollies?"

"You call the guards in here," Dorian said, arms crossed, "you get a lot of people locked up just for being different."

Isabela softened a little at his words. "You see our position. We can hire so many sellswords, but even that doesn't guarantee protection."

"So someone's rounding up mages and magically altered people," Hawke said, frowning. He leaned back, stroking his beard, thinking. "They're doing it in a place where arguably few people would miss them and where it's impossible for the victims to get any help." He glanced up at Fenris.

Fenris crossed his arms. "Go on."

Hawke looked at Anders, eyebrow raised.

"Of course we need to help them," Anders said at once.

Then, reluctantly, Hawke looked at Dorian. "Well. You're part of the team too, I guess."

"I feel so welcomed," Dorian deadpanned. "Yes, absolutely we help them."

Hawke turned back to Isabela. "We'll figure out what's going on. And if your people are still alive, we'll return them safe and sound."

Isabela smirked. "Oh, Hawke. You're such a damned pushover." But she was smiling.


	9. Showgirls: Act 2

"Are you sure this plan will work?" Hawke asked.

Isabela shrugged, spreading sparkling lotion over Dorian's chest. "He's a vampire. We have the perfect bait right here, why waste it?"

"Why indeed?" Dorian asked, arms spread. "What exactly is this concoction anyway? It smells strange."

"Oh a mix of this and a mix of that," Isabela said. "It'll make you very shiny under the glowlamps on the stage."

Hawke crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Fenris would've sufficed."

Isabela threw him a look before kneeling down to do Dorian's legs. "You really weren't lying when you said you'd disappointment me," she said, sliding her hands up his thighs.

Dorian, who wore only a pair of black, silken smalls, laughed. "It's nothing personal, I assure you."

"You don't have to tell me that," Isabela said, looking up at him with a wink. "Anyway," she continued, speaking to Hawke, "Fenris on a stage, dancing while people try to stuff vouchers into his smallclothes?"

"How does this work, exactly?" Dorian asked. "Since I'm being offered up as the sacrificial lamb and all."

"Well as it's awkward to shove coins down there, our patrons pay for cloth strips embroidered with the Pearl's symbol on it. At the end of the night, my dancers exchange the vouchers back for coin. They keep a portion of their pay, the house gets the rest for room and board and upkeep and this wonderful lotion that will make you shine and sparkle."

Dorian smirked. "It seems a fair system." He looked at Hawke. "And you'll be in the audience?"

Hawke was not amused. "To watch for our potential attacker. Not to throw strips of cloth at you."

"But I bet you wish you could," Dorian teased.

Isabela stood. "That's you, sweetheart. Go on backstage and the girls will finish you off with makeup and the rest of your outfit."

"If the man doesn't show his face," Hawke said, "we may need to take it a step further."

"Oh he will," Dorian said, pausing in the doorway. "After all, who could resist this?" He gestured at his well-oiled, mostly-naked body, winked, and left.

"He's got a point," Isabela said, leaning a bit to watch his retreating form down the hall.

"It's bad enough I have to accept the idea that Fenris is interested in… in _that_ ," Hawke finished, vitriolically. "Don't you start, too."

"Aw, poor Hawke," she said, wiping her hand off before patting his cheek. "Jealous?"

"Not even close," Hawke muttered. "You keep a look out as well. Or have you hung up your daggers completely?"

"I wager my daggers have seen more action than your dagger."

"Don't take that bet," Hawke said warningly.

"Oh?" Isabela glanced back at the hall, then to Hawke, and gestured to where Dorian stood just a moment ago. "Did I read that wrong?"

"Oh Maker _no_ ," Hawke growled. "That's disgusting!"

She laughed, then stopped. "Wait. You and Fenris?"

Hawke pursed his lips.

"Anders, then?"

His beard twitched as he tried not to smirk, and failed.

Isabela let out a whistle. "Good catch. Definitely a looker. Seems a little sad, though. Not like how I remember him when he was here. Did he use the electricity trick on you yet?"

"...Leaving now," Hawke said, and ignored her laughter as he pushed out of the office and toward the main room.

-

Fenris had never been in an establishment like this one and he never wanted to again. Hawke truly believed this would help their cause, however. They would find whoever was attacking these people and dragging them off into the night. Even if it didn't bring them any more leads, Hawke still would help. That's just how he was.

"You all right?"

But why did he have to sit with the abomination during the show? Surely they would be better off spread out through the room. Hawke was somewhere near the back, and he and Anders sat at a table in the middle. Fenris had a view of the side door that led from the dressing rooms to the stage, and the bar. Isabela, he knew, was milling through the crowd. With Hawke watching the exit, they would find this person. Maybe, if Hawke was in a good mood, he might even let Fenris interrogate the person who was causing the attacks. The thought made Fenris smirk.

"I am fine. Stop asking."

"You don't have to be so tetchy." Anders sipped his water. "Are you truly fine with Dorian playing the bait?"

Fenris glanced sidelong at him. "Yes." Why wouldn't he be? Dorian could handle himself. It wasn't as if they were going to let anything happen to him, even if he was targeted. Hawke might not like him, but Dorian was an ally.

"I only ask because if it was Hawke up there, I would be worried."

"And you're not worried for Dorian?" Fenris asked. _Typical hypocrite._

"Of course I am," Anders hastened to add. "Simply that my feelings for Hawke makes it a bit more personal."

"Implying..."

"That you and Dorian make quite the adorable couple," Anders finished, irritated. "Maker's breath, I was just trying to be friendly."

"Don't."

"Well, you're just a cheery ray of sunshine," Anders sighed and took another sip of water.

Two very bright glowlamps were lit, illuminating the stage. The crowd around them started to clap and Anders did as well. Fenris sat resolutely, peering around the room. A lot of hooded figures, but it made sense. If you held a position of power, political or otherwise, you wouldn't want to be seen in a place like this. Several people were already crowded around the stage, cloth vouchers in their hands. Fenris declined paying for any when the waitress inquired. Anders considered it but in the end he didn't purchase any either. Fenris found the entire thing distasteful. He understood the need to have this type of entertainment, he just never thought he'd be caught up in the middle of it.

Music started from the second floor balcony and one by one the dancers took the stage. Fenris looked back to where Hawke stood against the far wall, leaning casually, arms crossed. He had his own hood pulled up, but Fenris knew he was keeping a watch, just like he was. Anders glanced around surreptitiously. Just as he was wondering if this was a waste of time, the music changed. Thick black curtains parted, revealing a long silver pole. Fog rolled onto the stage, and Fenris found himself rolling his eyes.

"Maker's breath," Anders whispered with a little laugh.

Dorian stepped out, barefoot, wearing a long black and gold tunic that fell to his thighs. The music tempo picked up and he began to dance. Hips gyrating, he took hold of the pole and stepped carefully around it. Fenris watched, frowning, fist pressed against his knee. Of course Dorian could dance. He was probably trained in many arts at a young age. However, he couldn't imagine any magister training his son in a dance that involved a pole.

"He's… well," Anders said.

"What," Fenris ground out.

"Don't be jealous. I'm hardly interested in trying to seduce him away from you. He's just simply more talented than I thought he would be."

Fenris knew the way Anders looked at Hawke. People had in the past. But Hawke returned those looks. Neither of them would see Dorian on stage now and attempt to… _This is ridiculous,_ he thought, and waved over a waitress. He meant to order wine, something to calm his nerves while they sat through this ridiculous farce of a mission, but he ended up purchasing a handful of cloth vouchers. He also ended up ignoring Anders' raised eyebrow and questioning look as he pushed his way toward the stage.

Men and women of varying races, though mostly human, crowded the stage, waving their own vouchers at Dorian. He finished a routine on the pole, then casually danced his way around the stage, plucking the cloth from the audience members, allowing some to slide theirs inside his smalls. Fenris was the only one not clamoring, his job of watching the crowd momentarily forgotten as Dorian approached. Dorian knelt, leaned forward, and took the cloth from Fenris's fingers with his teeth. The crowd approved.

"Shame he doesn't do private dances!" said a human standing next to Fenris. He then had the gall to smack Fenris on the shoulder.

Fenris's markings lit involuntarily and he turned, fist clenched. But Dorian was faster, grabbing his wrist. Fenris looked at him.

"Got another one for me?" Dorian asked, nodding at the voucher clutched in Fenris's other hand. He shifted on the stage, releasing Fenris, and offered his ass.

The man, who was looking at Fenris with wide-eyed terror, backed away quickly, as had the others around him. Fenris scowled, tucked the voucher into the back of Dorian's smalls, and because he was still irritated, gave him a sharp slap to his backside. Dorian yelped, but looked back at Fenris, winking, and crawled his way to the pole. Still angry and not knowing exactly who to take his anger out on, Fenris stalked to the back of the room, ignoring the looks various people gave him.

"You are the very definition of, 'subtle reconnaissance,' aren't you?" Hawke asked.

"This was a stupid idea."

"Because your lover-"

"Don't."

"Object of lust and desire is making a fortune on stage?" Hawke finished.

Fenris wondered if he should take a swing at Hawke next. But the bastard would just dodge it. He scanned the room. "I don't think our kidnapper is here."

"Good way to change the subject. And I agree with you. Lot of sketchy sorts, but pickpockets aren't what we're here for. Maybe we'll catch him in the alley after the set. He's almost done dancing."

Fenris made a noncommittal noise he hoped sounded disinterested as well.

"You know, I bet he would let you shove something else down his-"

"Do not finish that sentence."

"Were you always this prudish? I can't remember."

"I am going to the alley."

Hawke chuckled. "Right. Take care of yourself."

Fenris looked at him. He could just make out his bearded chin from below the hood. "And you?"

"Going to stay 'til the end. I'll have Anders tail Dorian when he leaves. You going to change?"

Fenris contemplated this. If he was in wolf form he could follow Dorian by scent and probably pick up on the person or thing that was kidnapping the dancers and whores. He would likely pick up on a lot of other scents as well, less savory ones. But he might be able to blend in better as an elf, even one with strange markings, than he would as a giant wolf.

"No. Likely not," he decided. "Back here in twenty minutes if we find nothing."

Hawke nodded and Fenris stepped outside.

-

The rhythmic pulsing of the music, the cheer of the crowd, the scraps of cloth being waved at him, Dorian thought it all quite novel. Of course if Alexius were to find out, he would likely be unimpressed. And his father? Dorian was fairly sure he'd have some choice words to say. But neither man was here, and regardless of the rush he felt on stage, he was doing this for a good reason. And it wasn't to make money, though judging from how many cloth vouchers he pulled from his smalls once he was off stage, he could likely make a decent living at it.

"But who'd want to live in Denerim?" he scoffed, looking at himself in the mirror. His skin was shiny, almost sparkling.

"Dorian, there's a man who wants to see you," one of the dancers said, peering in. "He's just outside the stage door. Good show." She let her eyes rake over his backside before winking and heading back out.

Feeling a bit too anxious to enjoy the compliment, Dorian wrapped a long robe around himself and stepped into some very soft slippers. He would have time to wash off and dress later. Now he had another job to do. He was the bait. Despite his animosity with Hawke, he knew all three of his companions would have his back, that this was according to plan. Still, the idea of walking headlong into danger, while being Hawke's forte, was not exactly something he was used to yet. Until recently, and not counting Felix, he always found himself a bit friendless. After the change, it was even worse. Getting too close to anyone and risking them finding out his secret could shame the Pavus household in more ways than one. Falling in with Hawke and his friends was different, though. Anders had been forced against his will into something similar, or maybe even worse. He wasn't, after all, bereft of spirit like Dorian was. And while he hadn't seen Justice emerge yet, to hear Fenris tell it, he didn't want to.

And Fenris… well, he never thought he'd meet someone quite like him. He remembered their brief kiss, the conversation they had, and felt a little lightheaded at the potential there. Not that he was hoping for more than a few nights together, the idea of a friendship with the formidable warrior was not unwelcome. His transformation fascinated Dorian and the night they spent together excited him. Losing control and being subdued in such a way was intriguing. He wondered if Fenris was interested in perhaps taking control of their relationship. He would need to navigate this carefully, considering Fenris's views on mages and his treatment as a former slave.

He stepped out into the evening, inhaling the sharp night air. A single lantern above the door illuminated the immediate area, throwing the rest of the alley into shadow. Just beyond the light's reach, Dorian could make out a shadowy figure. _Our mysterious attacker,_ he thought, and leaned against the building nonchalantly. He crossed his legs and arms and smirked, then beckoned him over.

"Going to keep me waiting?" he asked, trying to seem as unintimidating as possible. He would need to appear vulnerable and hopefully goad the man into attacking him. Or trying to. Hopefully Hawke, Anders, and Fenris were already in position, watching perhaps from the mouth of the alley or somewhere close.

The man stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered. His head was shaved bald, a wicked scar across his nose, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a while. The tattered cloak he wore had seen better days, though Dorian heard the jingle of a coin purse from underneath it. "Saw you on stage."

 _Oh joy,_ Dorian thought. _Our attacker has even less fashion and hygiene sense than your average Fereldan._ "I assumed. You wanted to speak with me?"

"Not speak," the man laughed, and leaned in, one hand splayed on the wall next to Dorian's head. "How much for a night?"

Dorian gave a passing thought to the whores in the brothels he used to visit and wondered suddenly if they felt as he did now. Perhaps not, as they were highly paid courtesans. Even the seediest house in Tevinter was miles above the Pearl, with no offense to Isabela. They just had a different sort of clientele, that was all. This man would've been thrown out on his ass easily, coin or no.

"Probably too much for you."

"How about your mouth for twenty minutes?"

The man's breath was repulsive and Dorian tried hard not to gag. "Could you last that long?" He knew he was supposed to be bait, but this was ridiculous. Where were the others?

"Get on your knees, whore, and find out."

 _All right, that's it,_ Dorian thought, and gathered his mana for an attack. Before he could land a blow, the man was knocked aside, a dark shadow emerging from seemingly nowhere. Stunned momentarily, Dorian didn't react as the shadow snapped the man's neck, killing him in seconds. Then, the figure turned slowly to look at him, bright red eyes from below a hooded cloak, and Dorian realized that he'd been gravely mistaken about the identity of their attacker.


	10. Showgirls: Act 3

The sound of the struggle reached his ears before the scent of blood hit him. Fenris transformed at once and raced toward the back of the Pearl. He'd been patrolling without results, waiting for the show inside to end, and had anticipated something like this. What he wasn't expecting, however, was Dorian lying prone in the dirty alley, a cloaked figure hunched over him. His blood ran cold, something like fear coursing through his veins. This thing, whatever it was, was no demon. It smelled wrong, like a predator. Fenris, who wasn't used to feeling this type of fear, let it wash over him as anger, as the need to protect what was his surged forth. He charged down the alley and pounced.

"What in the Maker's name – Fenris!"

He heard Hawke, smelled him and Anders both as he collided with the thing that was attacking Dorian, and swiped a heavy paw at its head. The cloak fell back revealing an elf, dark skin and blond hair, bright red eyes that were full of anger and also fear as Fenris pinned him, teeth bared. Only the fact that they might need to question him kept Fenris from ripping his throat out right there. Hawke appeared over him a moment later, edge of his staff pressed to the elf's neck as he glared down at him.

"Nothing permanently damaged," Fenris heard Anders say, and he chanced a look back to where Dorian was slowly getting to his knees, robe covered in blood.

Fenris looked up at Hawke, growling low in his throat.

"If I tell my friend to let you up, will you run?" Hawke asked. "Keeping in mind that you'd have three powerful mages to contend with if you tried. Not to mention Fenris would likely rip your throat out and I couldn't stop him even if I wanted to."

The elf said something in Antivan, and Fenris growled again before transforming. He straddled the elf, glaring down at him. "Speak the common tongue."

"Yes, yes I will."

"Talk."

"I can talk about a great many things," the elf said, his accent thick. Despite his position, he spoke bravely, with only a slight tremble in his tone.

"Start with your name and why you're killing magical beings."

"No, no, no," he said. "You've got it wrong. I am not here to _kill_. Just to _collect_."

"Because that clearly makes it better," Anders snapped, helping Dorian to his feet.

Fenris looked at Hawke, who nodded, and he stood as well. Hawke pressed the edge of the staff a little harder to the elf's throat.

"Name. Yours and whoever you're working for."

"Perhaps we can move off the ground of this dirty alley-" The elf cut off with a gagging sound as Hawke pressed down. "Zevran! My name is Zevran. I was hired by a man called Loghain. If you release me I will tell you everything!"

"Not quite as terrifying now," Dorian muttered, inspecting the borrowed robe, which was torn in several places.

"Who is that?" Anders asked, gesturing at a corpse that lay nearby.

"A fan," Dorian replied nonchalantly. "Probably more than he deserved, but not innocent by half."

"I'll let Isabela know," Hawke said. He removed the edge of his staff and hauled Zevran to his feet. Several dozen black feathers fluttered from his cloak. "What in the bloody flames?"

Fenris sneered. "He's a Crow."

"Erm. Literal?"

Dorian's eyes narrowed. "Should have known." He opened the stage door. "Shall we?"

Fenris, who realized they wouldn't be getting any more answers out here, gestured for Hawke to go on. Hawke grabbed Zevran by the arm and pulled him inside, Anders following close behind.

"An Antivan Crow," Dorian sighed, hanging back with Fenris. "That's exactly what we needed."

"Loghain… The name is familiar," Fenris said, frowning. He knew the name vaguely in relation to Fereldan warfare and politics, but was sure Hawke would recognize it.

"I suppose we'll find out the details. Shall we?"

"Are you all right?" Fenris asked, looking him over. Though the robe was ruined, Dorian appeared largely unhurt.

"Most of the blood is his," Dorian said, gesturing to the corpse. "Distasteful business."

"Did he try to hurt you?"

Dorian tilted his head slightly, then smiled. "Dear Fenris, are you worried about my virtue?"

"One must have virtue in order to have others worry about it," Fenris deadpanned. "Are you hurt?" he tried again.

"No. Just my pride. Everything else Anders was able to take care of rather quickly. But you can inspect his handiwork later if you'd like," he said, leaning in.

Fenris turned his head to the side, feeling Dorian's lips brush against his ear, but didn't pull away. He tried to stop the small smirk, though was sure Dorian saw it. "They're waiting. Come."

"Hopefully sooner than later," Fenris heard him mutter as they entered the building, leaving the corpse of the man behind.

-

"Start with why you're here," Hawke said, arms crossed.

Seated across the table from Hawke was Zevran, who put on an air of nonchalance. Dorian could smell the anxiety rolling off him in waves, however. The red eyes were a bit unsettling as they glanced around, taking in the small office Isabela loaned to them for interrogation purposes. Fenris stood with his back against the only door, markings slightly aglow with the ambient magic in the air. His cheek sparkled a bit as the light caught it and Dorian realized belatedly that with their kiss, a bit of the lotion that Isabela spread on him must've rubbed off. If Hawke hadn't been so focused on the Crow, he was fairly sure there would've been a horrible joke made at Fenris's expense.

"I sold my contract to Loghain Mac Tir for a price. However, things did not go as planned and I am unfortunately bound to him now."

"Bound?" Dorian asked. He sat at the head of the table, dressed now in his regular clothing, though he was in desperate need of a wash from the oils, lotions, and now dried blood. A perfunctory wipe down with a wet cloth wasn't nearly good enough. Perhaps they would be able to bathe at the palace once this was over. "A Crow's contract is only good for one hit, then it's released. Where's yours?"

"His what?" Hawke asked, who was obviously out of the loop.

"Magical artifacts, usually dwarven in make," Dorian explained. "Little tokens in the shape of a crow. A bit of blood is sealed in the token – made of wood or metal – and it binds the token to the Crow. The contract-holder holds the token, controls the Crow until the contract is fulfilled. Then they're obligated to return it."

"What happens if they don't?" Anders asked, who'd obviously not heard of this either.

"The contract-holder's life is forfeit," Fenris interjected.

"Right…" Hawke frowned. "I don't think I'll ask you how you know all that."

Dorian smirked, leaning back in his chair, cheek propped up on his fist. "Sometimes, but not often, it's easier to purchase a professional assassin than do the job yourself. Not that I have any personal experience with it."

Hawke's expression was one of distaste as he looked back at Zevran. "So how is Loghain not dead?"

"As I have explained, things did not go as planned." Zevran tapped a finger nervously against the tabletop.

"Explain further," Hawke growled.

Zevran held up his hands in easy surrender. "You see, I am no longer alive."

"That would explain why you're talking," Hawke said, clearly not amused.

"It would explain the smell though." Dorian arched an eyebrow.

"Oho, aren't you just the charming one!" Zevran winked. "Though I understand, with your being a vampire and your companion," he glanced over his shoulder at Fenris, "being… whatever it is he is that causes him to turn into a giant wolf – nice trick, by the way, I should learn that."

"Get on with it," Hawke pressed.

"Well, I left Antiva and sold my crow to Loghain. The contract, you see, did not turn out the best. I am sad to say that it is the first time I failed in my duty as an assassin. Sadly, they do not simply slap you on the wrist, especially when your target decides to kill you as recompense."

"Who was your – never mind," Hawke said. "Not important. So you died in the line of your contract. How did Loghain bring you back?"

"The spell would have to be a complicated one," Dorian interjected. "Necromancy _is_ a bit of a hobby of mine," he explained as eyes fell on him.

"Brilliant fucking hobby," Hawke muttered.

"Don't look at me like that. It's a national pastime in Nevarra. All the better to help you track down this magister, after all, and stop him before he puts a permanent black mark on the practice. If the family consents to it, there's nothing wrong with it. Anyway," he said, a bit huffily as he continued, "I've read the theories on the ritual. A lot of blood, a kill made in self-defense, a sacrifice to certain spirits." He waved a hand. "Your Loghain must have wanted a Crow very badly for very cheap."

"Because this complicated ritual sounds like thrift-store level dealings," Hawke scoffed.

"If I may interject," Zevran said, leaning forward, "most contracts with the Crows are rather expensive. Unless you are say, a repeat customer or someone who can highly recommend and guarantee other jobs, of course."

"I thought King Alistair exiled Loghain," Hawke said, scratching at his beard. He looked at Anders. "Familiar with it?"

"Vaguely." Anders frowned. "It happened a while ago. Why would Loghain return and risk execution, or worse?"

"And what does he need all these mages and altered beings for?" Dorian asked. "Seems like we should be asking him the questions if Zevran doesn't have the answers."

Zevran gave a small, placating smile. "If I could help you with that, I would. My loyalty to Loghain was bought and paid for and ended with my failure. However, being bound, it is not exactly conducive to tale-telling. Even if I was privy to his motivations, which sadly I am not. I am not even sure where he resides, truly. I am given orders by a proxy, drops containing information where to bring the next victim – ah… person."

"So we just need to find Loghain and make him talk," Hawke said, hands splayed on the table as he stood. "Perfect."

"Hawke, how do you expect to do that in a city the size of Denerim?" Fenris asked. He frowned. "Before you even ask-"

"You can sniff him out. You can sniff out anything," Hawke said.

Anders, however, was ignoring the conversation, looking at Zevran carefully. "If we break the hold that Loghain has over Zevran… what happens to him?" He looked first to Dorian for an answer.

The question seemed to break Hawke and Fenris from their impending argument and Dorian pursed his lips, thinking.

"Traditionally speaking, he would die. Whatever's holding him to the mortal coil would vanish and he would no longer be bound."

Zevran forced a smile. "The Crows traditionally do not live very long lives."

"You would truly be all right with that?" Anders asked. "There could be another way. Perhaps transferring the contract, or-"

"Truly," Zevran assured him, and something in his tone caused Hawke to sink back down to his chair, eyes fixed on him in concern. "What? Are we to have an intervention now? Is this the part where you all tell me, 'Zevran, life is worth living. Tomorrow is a new day.' And all the rest?"

"No, but I think we're curious to know why you'd be fine with dying," Hawke said.

An uneasy silence settled over them all, while Hawke glanced around the room. It was Fenris who spoke first, shaking his head a little.

"Hawke."

"...Foot in mouth?" Hawke guessed.

"Yes."

Hawke huffed. "Fine. We'll see if there's a way to transfer the contract or annul it without your death. But if we can't-"

Zevran spread his hands in a, 'What are you going to do?' sort of way. His smile, however, was tight and didn't quite reach his eyes.

"We'll take the night," Hawke said, standing again, "and tomorrow we'll search for Loghain." He stretched, yawning.

It had been an extremely long day for all of them. Adrenaline rush over with, signs of exhaustion were starting to show.

"Are you coming with us?" Anders asked Zevran. "We're staying at the palace."

Fenris frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea? We saved the king once already."

"I am not under contract to kill anyone, least of all His Majesty. But I do see the cause for concern. An Antivan Crow in Denerim's palace." Zevran stood, brushing feathers from his cloak, which seemed to be made from the very shadows itself. A spell, perhaps, or glamor, which gave the impression.

"I'd rather keep him close. No offense," Hawke said. "You can stay on the couch."

Zevran bowed graciously, and Fenris, not sure at all about sleeping so close to a Crow, led the way out. He knew he would likely get little sleep, keeping an eye and ear out just in case Zevran was lying about his contract. After all, he'd failed to collect anyone tonight -

"Hawke."

"Fenris, I'm tired," Hawke said, a whiny edge to his tone. "Can't you just pretend to agree with me for once? Just tonight?"

"The bait."

"I am standing right here," Dorian said, hand on a cocked hip, eyebrow raised.

Anders seemed to understand, a look of realization crossing his features. "Zevran, do you have a location for the drop where you're supposed to bring Dorian."

The grin that slid across Zevran's face was more than mischievous. "Perhaps I do."

"Then perhaps you ought to show us," Hawke said, annoyed. "Tomorrow. Tonight, you're getting tied up, warded, and watched. By a palace guard. Maker's breath, I am too tired for this shit right now." He grabbed Zevran by the back of the collar and shoved him forward.

"Hawke-"

"You were right," Hawke said to Fenris. "I was wrong. Good enough?"

Fenris smirked as he followed them out. "For now," he agreed.


	11. Unleash the Hound... of Hell!: Act 1

Fenris woke late in the afternoon, the sounds of conversation filtering in from the common room. He heard Hawke speaking to the Antivan Crow – Zevran – and Anders laughing lightly at something that was said. It would likely be their last day spent in the palace unless King Alistair would be gracious enough to set them up for another evening or two. After all, they were still working to keep his city safe when they should have moved on already. None of this had anything to do with RTD that Fenris could tell. But Hawke likely already contacted Alexius to let him know about their sidetracking, and what little Fenris knew of Alexius made him realize he would give his blessing. Not that it was a bad thing what they were doing, simply that he was anxious to see this chapter in their lives behind them. Then they could go back to the regular day-to-day hunts. Perhaps it would be just him and Hawke again.

A warm body shifted next to him and Fenris looked down at the top of Dorian's head. When they split rooms for the night after securing Zevran, it happened naturally. Fenris recalled the days before, when he and Hawke would share a room or simply sleep outside or in a handy cave. Now their party had grown and it appeared it was going to stay this way. Hawke was thoroughly infatuated with Anders. Loved him, even. While Fenris still had some apprehension there, it had ebbed since their first meeting him. He would keep Anders safe, just as he kept Hawke safe, and now Dorian. The irony of yet again keeping mages safe was not lost on him, but this was not like it was with Danarius. This was his choice.

"You always watch people when they sleep?" Dorian asked, covering a yawn.

"Yes."

"Well that's not creepy at all."

Fenris watched Dorian stretch, then stiffened a little as Dorian wrapped himself carefully around him, legs entwined together.

"Is this all right?"

"...Yes."

"I can tell you're very enthusiastic about it."

Fenris huffed a little, then breathed in deeply. Dorian, not truly tired when they returned to the palace, took his time cleaning up in one of the sunken tubs in the bathing room. He smelled faintly of soap and something Fenris couldn't place, flowery, but not overpowering. A soft hand guided his cheek, and his lips met Dorian's in a brief kiss.

"Are you hungry?" Fenris asked quietly.

"Not really. I have quite a bit left in the flask." Dorian ran his fingers up through Fenris's hair, smiling up at him. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the most gorgeous eyes?"

A loud knock followed by the door swinging open interrupted them, and Hawke ducked his head in. "Breakfast." He paused. "Aww, aren't you two just the cutest all cuddled up."

Fenris grabbed the nearest thing – a knife left on the nightstand – and hurled it at Hawke, who yanked the door shut in time. The knife stuck into the wood with a dull thud, the sounds of Hawke's laughter fading as he left them to it.

"So how do I stay on your good side?" Dorian asked carefully.

Fenris grunted and sat up, sliding from the covers. He paused, turned back, and pulled Dorian close for a forceful kiss. "Don't act like Hawke."

"That," Dorian assured him, "will not be an issue."

-

With assurances from the king that they were welcome to stay as long as they liked, they breakfasted closer to supper time before preparing to set out into Denerim. Hawke idly took Anders by the hand as they walked the streets, killing time before sunset, when Zevran would take them to the drop-off location. He was just in front of them now, with Fenris and Dorian flanking him. Though Hawke was fairly sure Zevran wouldn't run – he needed something to bring back to Loghain after all – it was best that he was being watched by those two.

"It still feels strange sometimes," Anders mused, looking at the shopfronts as they passed. "Being here without templars chasing me."

"You're safe with me."

Anders smiled indulgently at him. "In Kirkwall, even though I know I'm a free mage, I still feel as if I truly can't enjoy it. The templars watch my every move if I so much as decide to poke my nose into Hightown."

"Coin and title doesn't help much either," Hawke admitted.

"Do you fear being thrown in the Gallows?" Anders wondered. He couldn't imagine that the knight-commander was all that happy with Hawke, everything considered.

"Only on Tuesdays."

"Hawke."

Hawke squeezed his hand. "Sometimes, yes. But mostly Meredith is content to leave me alone as long as I'm either helping the city or helping her."

Anders pulled his hand away. "Helping her?"

"Not by bringing in mages!" Hawke said, reaching for his hand once, then again. "Anders, come on. I wouldn't do that."

"How then?"

"Mostly by attending stupid balls. And the bullshit with the Qunari awhile back. Can I hold your hand now? Please? Will you stop being angry with me?"

"...Maker's breath, you really have no idea how adorable you are, do you?" Anders held his hand out, rolling his eyes a little as Hawke took it happily.

"I do. All part of my charm." Hawke brought the back of his hand up and pressed his lips to it before letting their arms swing idly between them. "I'll be more careful of my phrasing in future. I'd rather not accidentally piss Justice off. Waking up next to that…"

"You'll hurt his feelings," Anders teased.

"You know I still have nightmares from the first time we met him." Hawke wasn't afraid to admit it either. "But it's a nice day."

Anders appreciated the subject change, resting his head briefly on Hawke's shoulder as they walked. "And once this is over-"

"You'll come back to Kirkwall with me and live in my mansion." He thought a moment, and made a face. "I expect Dorian will want to stay with Fenris."

"Yes," Dorian said, with a backward glance over his shoulder. "Dorian will very much like to stay with Fenris, and he would also thank you not to talk about him literally behind his back."

"Stupid super hearing," Hawke said, lagging a bit now, holding Anders back.

Anders laughed, then dropped his tone as he spoke again. "I think they need time to figure each other out."

"They didn't need any when I woke them for breakfast. Tongues all down each other's throats."

"I can still hear you, Hawke," Fenris groused.

"Then stop eavesdropping!"

Fenris tossed a rude hand gesture over his shoulder, which caused Anders to laugh again.

"I like it when you do that," Hawke admitted. "When we first met, you were really sad."

Anders shrugged a little. "Admittedly I didn't have much to be happy about. I like what I do, but that doesn't mean it's all good all the time."

"And now?"

"I miss my clinic and my friends."

"That Karl guy," Hawke said, and realized how jealous he sounded.

"Yes, Karl. I am allowed to miss him. We've known each other a long time."

"Known."

Anders sighed. "Will this be a problem? Every time one of my former lovers is brought into conversation-"

"Isabela said you used an electricity trick on her."

"Maker's sake, Hawke…"

"No, this is my hand!" Hawke pouted, gripping tightly before Anders could pull away. "You can be angry with me but I still get to hold your hand."

"You are insufferable."

Hawke saw Fenris, a few feet ahead of them, shake his head a little. "No one asked you, you dumb mutt. Keep walking."

Dorian turned around to say something, but Fenris reached out, grabbed his arm, and the three of them hurried their pace.

"All right, fine," Hawke relented. "No getting jealous of your previous lovers." He paused. "But Karl-"

"We're friends. And he doesn't know about Justice and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't think I could bear it if he looked at me differently." Anders frowned, eyes down.

Hawke stopped and pulled him around into a hug, holding onto him tightly. Anders rested his forehead against Hawke's shoulder. "I promise I won't tell him or anyone. But if he did decide to drop your friendship because of what Danarius did to you, then he is the dumbest person in all Thedas." He kissed Anders' temple. "Also, he wouldn't be worth your time anyway. Friends don't walk away when things get hard. I never will."

Anders raised his eyes to look at Hawke. "You cannot promise that."

Hawke cupped his chin. "Watch me." He leaned and kissed him soundly, hoping to drive away any doubt. He knew the interruption was coming before Fenris said anything and quickly held a hand for him to wait, the other moving to grip the back of Anders' head. Slowly he pulled away, following up with a quick, chaste kiss, and couldn't help but grin seeing Anders flush a bit in the waning sunlight. "Good?"

"Yes, Hawke," Anders assured him.

"Hawke."

Hawke sighed heavily and turned with effort. "Yes, perpetual pain in my ass?"

Fenris smirked and gestured to Zevran. "It's time."


	12. Unleash the Hound... of Hell!: Act 2

The alleyways of the Red Chantry District were familiar to Dorian. Minrathous had several such districts, many of which he visited. The main markets of the city, while not as impressive as the ones back home, were easily identifiable and cheerful until their closing hour as the sun set behind the tall buildings. However, walking through the poorer districts told Dorian all he needed to know about Denrim, and he compared it to those in Minrathous with an air of superiority. The streets there were clean, not a scrap of garbage around. Even the lower classes had pride. But here it seemed that every corner they turned simply grew dirtier and smellier. He tried not to gag on the pungent aroma of trash and what could only be human waste. Next to him, Fenris had his hood pulled low, and Dorian heard him clear his throat several times.

Zevran led the way through the labyrinthine streets and Dorian wondered further if they would be able to retrace their steps. Then again, he suppose Fenris would be able to guide them out in his wolf form if necessary, as stopping to ask a guard seemed a bad idea, even if there had been any around. The streets were conspicuously emptier as they trekked on. Clotheslines hung high above them, ratty second hand garments hanging on the lines. His boots sloshed a puddle of what he hoped was rainwater and he tugged the hem of his cloak higher off the ground.

"Through here," Zevran said, stopping at a high wooden fence. He opened the gate and stepped inside. "She will likely not be pleased to see you, all things considered. But I suppose you have planned for the inevitable less than warm welcome."

"She?" Hawke asked, making sure everyone came through before gesturing for the gate to be shut.

"You didn't think you were actually going to meet Loghain, did you?"

Dorian tutted. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"I see you understand!" Zevran said, pleased.

The front garden was overgrown, the path leading to the house barely visible. On either side, weeds grew almost as tall as they were. Two large trees bent low and cast the entire area into shadow. Hawke jerked as one of the thorny bushes caught his cloak, and Dorian sighed, lifting a handful of fire before Fenris shoved it down again.

"Do you want to set the entire garden aflame?" he asked, exasperated. He gestured at Hawke, who removed Fenris's sword from its place in his staff, then shouldered past the others, hacking away at the branches.

"Well if someone's gardener hadn't been let go," Dorian said, bruised.

"Lover's tiff," Hawke commented, and Anders shushed him.

They reached the front door with Fenris leading the way. An old rotted piece of wood, paint peeling, a brass knocker, rusted, in the shape of a hound's head sat in the middle. Hawke lifted it and let it fall twice before rapping his knuckles on the door itself. Zevran, arms crossed, simply looked amused as they waited. Dorian wondered what awaited them inside the apartment. One of Loghain's lackeys? Another vampire? 

He didn't have to wonder long as the door cracked open and a very pretty woman peered out. Her blond hair was done up in intricate braids, her sharp features giving her a severe look, as if she wasn't a woman to be trifled with. Hopefully Hawke would understand and keep his horrible sense of humor to himself. Dorian arched an eyebrow as she turned first to Zevran and stepped aside to let him in. Then she addressed the rest of them.

"I don't know who you are, but if you've come for Zevran's contract-"

"Actually we wanted to speak to Loghain," Hawke said, interrupting.

The effect was almost instantaneous. A sword emerged at once from the woman's side, pointed at Hawke's throat. Fenris reacted not a second later, markings flaring up, his own sword knocking hers away and back, and he pushed inside the house. The woman held her blade up to defend and Fenris, glaring, moved to attack again.

"Fenris, wait!" Hawke said, and grabbed his arm.

The woman took the momentary distraction and thrust forward. Fenris dodged, but not fast enough, the blade catching his side, clanging off his armor. Anders let loose with a burst of magic, a paralyzing rune on the floor, stopping her in her tracks.

"Fenris?" Anders asked.

Fenris wrenched his arm away from Hawke and pulled back his cloak. Dorian lit another magical fire in his hand, the hall too dark to see otherwise, and held it out. The armor was dented, but there was no blood.

"I am fine, mage," Fenris assured him, shrugging off his concern.

Dorian scoffed. "She nearly skewered you."

"I am _fine_ ," Fenris insisted. "I would not have needed to dodge the blow if-"

"Don't even go there," Hawke warned.

"He was defending you, you ass," Dorian snapped, annoyed. In the few seconds the attack happened, behind the others and crowded in the doorway, he hadn't been able to do much of anything.

"Do not call him that," Fenris retorted, turning his glare on Dorian.

"...Fine." _See if I defend you again,_ he thought bitterly.

"Enough!" Anders' skin shimmered faintly blue, eyes flashing the same color as he turned to look at them all.

An icy feeling washed over Dorian, stomach instantly in knots. The room fell silent. Anders blinked, his skin returning to normal, eyes no longer aglow. He lit the top of his staff with a whisper of magic, plucked the sword from the woman's hand, and tossed it aside. Raising his palm, he made a quick gesture of wiping something away and the paralysis faded. The woman stepped back at once, a look of fear on her face.

"We're not going to hurt you or Loghain," Hawke said. "I know you have no reason to trust us. We just want to know what's going on. Why are you taking people – magically altered beings? Why do you need a Crow? What's Loghain planning? And who are you? His secretary?"

The woman's fear turned to loathing, and she straightened. "My name is Anora. Loghain is my father."

Dorian, who had no idea who this woman was, didn't react the same as Anders or Hawke, who exchanged surprised looks.

"But that would make you the queen-" Hawke started.

Anora's glare only doubled, a seething anger rolling off her now. But she kept her chin up, eyes leveled at Hawke. "No. I left when my father was exiled by that buffoon. My reign of queen ended when he tricked the nobles into crowning him king."

Dorian, whose summation of King Alistair was that he _was_ kind of a buffoon, highly doubted the man would have been able to trick anyone, let alone a bevy of nobles with the power of naming him king. He'd had too much experience with the nobility to think they were so easily fooled, and even Fereldan nobles had to have a modicum of intelligence. Still, to give up a position as Queen Regent, possibly heir to the throne should something happen to Alistair, in order to follow her father? It spoke volumes of their relationship.

"Are you helping him collect magical beings?" Anders asked. "Where are they?"

"Elsewhere. I've already expressed my thoughts, but he simply won't listen to me." She was unable to keep the distress from her tone.

Dorian stepped forward, lowering his hand and the magical ball of light so he could see her face. She looked close to tears and his heart broke a little for her. "You obviously care a great deal for your father," he said quietly, a swirl of jealousy in his chest. "Let us help you. And him. Please, Lady Anora."

She looked him up and down and he smiled gently, which she returned hesitantly. Perhaps he gave off a different air than the other three – after all, they were equals as far as class was concerned – and she relaxed slightly.

"Zeran's already gone through to the sitting room. Come. I'll have some tea brought in." She gave one last worried glance at Anders, who obviously unnerved her, and a wary look at Fenris as well before turning and leading them through the darkened foyer into then lounge.

"Perhaps you should let me talk to her," Dorian said in an undertone to the others.

"As long as it gets us the information we need," Hawke agreed.

"I think that's best as well," Anders added.

Dorian looked to Fenris, who looked away, shrugging. Dorian didn't bother asking, shoving the idle irritation away, and hurried through to the lounge to sit across from Anora. He set his staff aside and crossed his legs, taking in the sparse decor as Hawke settled next to him. Fenris stood against the far wall, and Anders helped himself to an armchair. Zevran appeared suddenly in a burst of shadow and feathers to sit across from Anders in the second armchair, grinning at them.

"It's a far cry from our usual estate," Anora apologized, speaking to Dorian, with whom she seemed to be the most comfortable.

"I'm positive a woman of your tastes and standards would ensure nothing more than the most luxurious decor," Dorian assured her. "All things considered, you've outdone yourself here." It was an exaggerated and expected lie.

Another elf entered the room, carrying a large tea tray and set it on the coffee table. Anora waved him off and she poured them each a cup herself, gesturing to the little treats, encouraging them to eat. Dorian, who was more than used to the games nobles played, plucked the cookie from Hawke's fingers and tested it with a simple spell before returning it once he was satisfied they weren't poisoned. At least with anyone he was aware of. Anora chose not to comment. Perhaps she even expected it of him. After all, she had tried to kill them just a few minutes ago with a sword. Poison might have been more successful where steel failed.

"What is your father like?" Dorian asked carefully.

Anora sipped her tea before setting it aside then folded her hands in her lap. "Above all else, Father loves his country. He fought for it during the Orlesian occupation and served both King Maric and my husband faithfully."

Hawke's cup clanked against his plate and Anders shook his head almost imperceptibly. Dorian once again found himself a little out of the loop, lacking knowledge of Fereldan's politics and gossip. While he'd heard about the Orlesian occupation and of course the Blight, Tevinter remained largely unaffected by both. And he had been busy with other things to occupy his time to care about what was happening in some backwater country so many miles away.

"We're certainly not here to question that," Dorian assured her. "Do you think it would be possible for us to talk to him?"

"He's gotten… paranoid. My father's always hated the Orlesians for what they've done, for what he's suffered. But he thinks that they're out to get him specifically. That they're going to try to reclaim Ferelden, and another war is upon us."

Dorian watched the subtle changes in her body language. It was easy to hear the anxiety in his her tone, but the way she kept her back straight while slightly twisting her hands, there was something more. "Do you believe there's something to it?"

"Possibly," she said, sighing a little. "Relations with the Orlesians were always strained. There were rumors that Cailan was to wed the empress."

"But you were Cailan's wife," Hawke said, frowning. He set his cup down.

"You know, in Antiva, that would not be a problem," Zevran said, smirking.

"Quiet," Anora ordered, and Zevran made a 'go on' gesture, still smirking. "I found out after he died that they were making careful arrangements. Since I was unable to produce an heir for him, he would have been able to annul the marriage. Father didn't take kindly to the idea. I think it pushed him further into his paranoid state."

"Does King Alistair know?" Anders asked.

Anora frowned. "Empress Celene has been to visit him. He invited her for peace talks and my father believes that he was cursed by a mage in her court."

"Empress Celene keeps mages in court?" Dorian asked, surprised. "I know you southerners do things a bit backwards when it comes to your mages-"

"You don't say," Anders muttered.

"-but keeping a mage in upper society seems tantamount to political suicide in Orlais."

"It's true," Hawke said. "King Alistair doesn't even have mages in his court."

"But he'd be happy to hire them to do his dirty work," Anders said, a bitter edge to his tone.

Hawke reached out and gently squeezed his knee. "You like King Alistair, remember?"

Anders, still frowning, merely sipped his tea.

Anora cleared her throat and Dorian waved her on, leaning forward in attentiveness. "Father thinks that one of the mages remained behind to maintain a curse on him. He's started gathering mages and magically altered beings in order to build an army to fight the Orlesians he swears are coming to invade. He refuses to leave his room. He says if he does, the curse will get him. I… I will convince him to put this foolishness aside if you help him."

"It sounds like he needs a therapist, not a hunter," Hawke said.

Anora glared, while Dorian looked at him incredulously.

"Hawke," Fenris said, speaking for the first time since entering the lounge.

"Andraste's sake," Hawke huffed. "Fine, sorry."

Anders set his tea down. "If your father truly is cursed, we can help. If not-"

"If he's not cursed and you find evidence to the contrary, then I will still convince him to stop," she promised. "I simply want my father back."

The worst stung, Dorian's breath catching with the feeling they evoked. He knew exactly how she felt in that moment, trying not to show weakness in front of them, hurting, doing everything short of begging them for help. All because the man she once knew as her father had changed. Of course he thought about his own and wondered if he would ever return home. If he would ever see him as the man he once knew and tried so hard to impress.

"Lady Anora, of course we'll help in any capacity that we can," Dorian promised.

Hawke glanced back at Fenris, Dorian following his gaze. Fenris nodded. Hawke looked then to Anders. "Yeah?"

"Of course. We're in too deep now to turn back. If Loghain was cursed by a mage, we'll find out who and how." Anders' tone, however, indicated that he didn't quite believe it yet.

"Let's do this, then," Hawke said. "Take us to your father and we'll do what we can."

"In addition," Anders added, "Zevran's contract. You'll no longer need it."

"Of course," Anora promised them, as Zevran perked up. "We'll transfer the contract to one of you."

"How delightful to be passed around like a party favor that no one wants," Zevran said in his typical cheery tone, though it was laced with heavy sarcasm.

"First thing's first," Hawke said. "Then we'll figure something out."

"Even better!"

Dorian sighed, but stood, reaching over to shake Anora's hand, taking her fingers delicately in him own. "We'll do everything in our power to make sure your father comes out of this alive and well."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "That's all I ask. I'll go get my coat and meet you outside."

Dorian took up his own staff, ignoring the looks the others gave him, and walked out without another word.


	13. Unleash the Hound... of Hell!: Act 3

They walked through the darkened streets, Dorian and Anora leading the way, the latter with his staff tip lit to light their path. If Anora seemed put off by the fact that he was a mage, she said nothing, however her wary looks toward Fenris and Anders did not stop. Dorian merely shook his head at the concern.

"They'll no more hurt you than I, Lady Anora," he assured her.

"Tell me," she said carefully, "which one was Zevran trapping in order to bring to us? The elf or the other?"

Dorian felt the tension behind him, the mutterings. It wasn't his job, however, to tend to the bruised egos of his companions. One in particular who he was feeling less than friendly toward at the moment. "Actually it was myself."

"Being a formidable mage, no doubt," she complimented him.

Zevran, walking with them a ways off, chuckled, but said nothing.

"Quite." Dorian had no desire to correct her and was glad when Hawke kept quiet.

"You're from Tevinter, then."

"Yes. I do hope that's not a problem, with everything taken into consideration."

Anora gave him a slightly sideways look. "I've no personal qualms with your country, Lord Dorian."

"'Lord Dorian'," Hawke muttered behind them, mocking.

Thankfully Anora hadn't heard him. "And as you're not Orlesian, I'm sure my father will receive you well enough. Though he was born a commoner."

"We can't all be perfect," Dorian teased gently. "He was a great war hero after all," he added seriously. "Your king obviously thought him worthy enough to raise him up. Not to mention the betrothal and wedding between his son and yourself."

"King Maric was a good man. Father believes no future king will ever measure up."

"Well, while it remains to be seen, it's always hard to lose a dear friend."

Anora unlocked the door to a house opposite a nearly empty lot, which contained one lone tree and a wooden bench. Perhaps Denerim's version of a park, Dorian thought with disdain. He fought to keep his criticisms internal, as he doubted very much that either Anora or Loghain would care for them. _If there's one good thing to be said about this place, at least it breeds patriotism,_ he thought, holding the door open for Anora to step inside.

"I'll see if father is willing to leave his bedroom," she said. "Please wait in the parlor." She waved them to a side room and climbed the stairs, Zevran following eagerly.

Dorian stepped into the parlor and set his staff against the wall, looking around. Hawke stepped to the far wall to examine a painting, dragging Anders with. _He's not exactly subtle,_ Dorian thought, looking at Fenris, who kept his eyes on the ground, fists clenched.

"Well," Dorian said in an undertone to him, "did you want to talk before she returns? Perhaps remove the obvious tension which has built up?"

Fenris frowned, glancing up at Hawke and Anders, who were talking quietly about Anora and Loghain, Hawke making obvious gestures at the painting to cover up the fact that they were trying to give their companions time to sort out their animosity.

"Or we can simply allow it to cause a larger rift until finally we're shouting at one another over a state dinner. That's always worked for my father and me," Dorian continued, not bothering to cloak his irritation.

"You insulted Hawke."

"Yes, I called him an ass because he was behaving like one."

"Don't."

"What? Don't defend you when he's clearly in the wrong?"

Fenris crossed his arms, shifting from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at Dorian. "Hawke and I will always argue and disagree. You will need to get used to it."

Dorian scowled. "First, I thought you were injured. I wasn't able to help in the fight because the bloody doorway was too narrow and I might have hit someone on our side. Second, you were right, he was wrong, and he seems to have a great problem with this being the case. Third…" He paused. "I was worried for you."

Fenris looked up. "Worried."

"Yes, well from where I was standing it looked like you were run through. I know that's not the case and Anders is quite the healer but I'm not ashamed to admit that I was…"

"You were worried."

"Is that so damned difficult to believe?"

Fenris exhaled sharply. "No. Simply that I am unused to it. For a very long time it has been Hawke and myself. Now that it's more than that…" He glanced toward Hawke and Anders, eyes falling on Hawke's hand, which was resting at the small of Anders' back.

"I don't believe that Hawke and I will ever get along. We're much too different for that," Dorian confessed. "However, we can agree to be amiable and work together for the greater good of it all. That doesn't mean we won't ever argue. At the very least I can promise not to set him on fire. On purpose, anyway," he added.

Fenris smirked. "I will defend him."

"And I will defend you. Because you and I are…" Dorian hesitated, not sure what to call their relationship.

Fenris looked slightly uncomfortable. "We'll speak more on that later."

"All right?"

Fenris nodded. He hesitated, then leaned up and brushed his lips against Dorian's. "I apologize for acting how I did."

Dorian preened a little. "Accepted. And I'm sorry I called him an ass. Even though he was acting like one. I'll… watch that in the future. But don't expect me to always keep quiet."

"I suppose that's fair."

Footsteps interrupted any further conversation and Anora appeared at the doorway. "Father won't come out of his room, but he's agreed to see you. Just… please don't take offense to anything he might say."

"I highly doubt there's anything he could say that would offend this group," Dorian assured her, gesturing around the room at the others. "Please lead the way."

With a firm nod, Anora turned on her heel and they followed her from the room.

-

"Be careful of the salt," Anora warned them, stepping over the line in the doorway.

"Salt?" Hawke said. "Is it a summoned-"

"Beast," Loghain said, emerging from behind the partition in the room. "A summoned, magical beast."

Loghain, once a tall, broad warrior, proud of his Fereldan heritage, seemed now a shadow of the man the legends made him out to be. A war hero wasted away in exile and now, swallowed up by his own paranoia. The room's only window also contained a line of salt at the base. The room itself was full of books stacked high, papers fluttering about, scribblings on the wall written in eccentric shorthand.

"Why don't they just kill you?" Hawke asked, stepping carefully further into the room, looking around. _It's like a lair for crazy people,_ he thought, but didn't voice it.

Anora crossed to her father and embraced him easily, standing up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek before settling in the only chair not covered in books and papers.

"It would jeopardize their dealings with the crown," Loghain explained. He leaned against a wall, arms crossed. "Anora says you should be able to help track the bastard down. The mage that did this to me."

"Should," said Hawke. "That's what we do after all. Anything to go on?"

"Don't touch that!" Loghain snapped suddenly, looking past Hawke to Anders.

Anders dropped the book, hands raised.

Hawke tried not to roll his eyes. Anora hadn't been kidding when she said that her father was paranoid. "Do you have a name or anything that could help us?"

"It's an elf."

"An Orlesian elven mage from Empress Celene's court," Dorian said, and he looked away to hide his disbelief.

"Have your laugh if you must!" Loghain growled, stepping forward. "'The hound will find you at the stroke of midnight every night from now until it feasts upon your innards.'"

"Not a curse I've ever heard of," Hawke admitted, looking to his companions. Fenris shook his head, Dorian shrugged a bit, and Anders looked bewildered. He fingered the runestone in the pocket of his cloak and wondered if he should contact Alexius about it, but decided not to. Not unless they truly got stuck. He was sure the man would have the answers, but he couldn't run to him every time he became a little tripped up.

"It doesn't matter if you've never heard of it. It exists. And it's why I can't leave this room."

"But not why you need the army," Anders pressed.

"Those damned Orlesians _will_ attack!" Loghain shouted, clenching his fists.

"Father," Anora said, standing, and crossed the room to touch his arm. "Please. Listen to yourself."

"You don't know what they're capable of, Anora." He frowned, looking down at her. "They would take these lands back. I cannot allow it. Maric's fool bastard would let it happen."

"I'm not denying he's a fool, but I do not think he would allow it. Eamon wouldn't allow it."

Loghain sneered at the name, but relented, seeing his daughter's earnest expression, hearing her words. He looked back to Hawke. "If you make me a promise, I will release the army I've been building. And the Crow."

Anders stepped forward to argue the point, but Hawke threw up an arm. "What promise?"

"That you will travel to Orlais. Investigate the empress. Find out what you can and report it back to the crown. You're Fereldan, aren't you? Do you have love of country?"

Hawke narrowed his eyes. "Yes. I do." So many nobles looked down at him because he was Fereldan, because he was a mage. But he would fight for his country. "If there's truly a threat, I will find it."

Fenris made a noise low in his throat, disbelief and exasperation.

"The beast will try to attack at midnight," Loghain assured them. "I've narrowed the attacks to come from a few places." He dug through a pile of papers and withdrew a perfect map of Denerim with locations circled in chalk. "Here. Use this if you want to start trailing it before it comes. I will remain here."

"I'll look after them, Father. You get some rest." Anora kissed his cheek again and ushered them out.

"We should check out the areas," Hawke suggested as they stepped back over the salt line. "I've heard of summoned beasts."

"Possibly a Cerberus," Dorian suggested. "Demon dog," he clarified. "Hounds spewing fire, red eyes, bloodied fur. Then again it is Ferelden so maybe that's normal here, I don't know. It's an old wives' tale back in Tevinter."

"Unadulterated gossip," Hawke scoffed. "Thank you," he said to Anora as they gained the foyer. "We'll be back before midnight."

"Please," she implored them. "For my father's sake, please find who's doing this to him."

"We will," Dorian promised.

They walked back out into the night, Hawke handing the map to Anders to look over. "Split up and we'll meet back here around eleven. If you find anything useful, don't forget to share it with the rest of the class." He kissed Anders on the cheek. "I'll take the high street." He looked at Fenris. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Giving your own advice to me once again," Fenris quipped.

Hawke poked him in the forehead, strolled a few steps, then turned back to Dorian. "Don't uh…"

"Your concern is touching. And needless."

"Don't die. I'd hate to deal with a mopey Fenris." Hawke smirked and hurried off.

Anders sighed, scanned the map, then handed it to Dorian. "I'll take the town square. Good luck, both of you."

"I suppose that leaves the street with the inns and the ones with the crudely drawn back alleys," Dorian said, squinting as he turned the map around.

"Enjoy the inns," Fenris said. He hesitated.

"Oh for Andraste's sake." Dorian rolled his eyes before leaning down, capturing Fenris's mouth in a searing kiss. He smirked as Fenris tried to figure out where to put his hands, which ended up gripping the front of his robes. The kiss ended slowly, and Dorian chuckled. "We'll talk once we sort this out. Good luck." He handed the map to Fenris and pulled his hood up, disappearing into the night.

Fenris folded the map, tucked it into his breastplate, and transformed into the wolf. He licked his lips, still tasting Dorian as he raced off toward the back alleys to find a clue as to what could possibly be hunting Loghain.


	14. Rabid: Act 1

Hawke was usually pretty good at talking to people. The taverns on the high street were open and he picked a few at random, struck up conversation, and asked casually about demon dogs. Of course people wrote him off as a lunatic drunk and an easy mark. Setting them straight was as simple as breaking one of their noses, but it didn't get him any closer to a real answer. He bought a round of drinks and left the taverns empty-handed, hoping that the others would have better luck. Either that, or he supposed they would see the hound at midnight, and somehow track it back to where it came from.

Frustrated, he fingered the runestone again, tempted, but decided to hold off. If they couldn't figure things out tonight, he would contact Alexius tomorrow for more information. He might even be able to put the word out for any weird dealings going on in Orlais. Not that he thought any of this was connected to RTD, thought he'd been wrong before. It didn't happen often, but it did happen. Disappointed with the lack of information, he started back to Loghain's house.

-

"Fereldan inns," Dorian muttered disdainfully, sipping his watered down wine. He made a face. The flavor seemed off somehow and he pushed it aside.

"Not to your taste?" a man asked, approaching his table. He was working-class, quite a bit of dirt under his fingernails, farm clothing ratty and torn. Without asking he dropped into the seat next to Dorian and waved a barmaid over. "Two of whatever you have on tap, lass."

Dorian tried not to scowl. Ferelden. Such a low-class country. Denerim. A terrible excuse for a city. "I was just leaving," he lied.

"Surely you can stay and have a drink," the man said, slipping a hand on Dorian's knee. "Can't have anywhere too important to go tonight."

If he'd been home and the man propositioning him been a fan of proper hygiene, Dorian might have forgone the mission for a quick tumble. But the fact remained that the man sitting next to him somehow forgot the basics of bathing along with proper seduction techniques. "No, thank you," Dorian said, figuring he'd try to remain polite, though the man's hand was moving slowly up his thigh.

"C'mon, whore."

Dorian picked his wine glass up and with a practiced flick of the wrist, tossed it in the man's face. He was gone before the fallout and disappeared once again down an alley, stopping only to catch his breath. He ran his tongue along his fangs, gently touching the tips, and he sighed.

"Keep control, Dorian," he warned himself. "That ape was hardly worth it."

Figuring he wouldn't glean any useful information, and feeling disappointed in himself, he started back toward Loghain's house.

-

The town square was empty as Anders arrived, save for two elven children who saw him, ducked their heads, and hurried away. He lingered only briefly then followed at a safe distance. The alienage was dirtier than the alleys and he was reminded strongly of the worst parts of Lowtown. The smell was at least as bad as the sewers where Justice took them sometimes and he tried to push the memories from his mind.

"Why are you here, shemlen?"

Anders turned and saw an elf, grey hair and tired eyes, glaring at him. "I mean no harm," he told him. "I was looking for information."

"Information." The elf looked him up and down. Ascertaining, perhaps, that he wasn't a danger, he shrugged. "Information costs."

Anders pulled a gold sovereign from his pouch. Hawke continued to ply him with gold, 'For whatever you need – herbs and bandages and healer stuff.' He held it out to the elf, whose eyes went wide. "I need information about a possible summoned beast. A hound."

"Nothing like that here or in the other slums," the elf admitted, eyes on the coin. "Lots of strays going missing though."

"Strays?" Anders handed him the coin. "Tell me."

The sovereign was gone in a flash, tucked away in the folds of the elf's ragged clothing. "Used to be packs of 'em. Roaming around. It's normal, you know? Looking for scraps of food. They don't come around here so much. Not too many scraps left over for the dogs." He spat distastefully on the ground. "Bloody shemlen."

"Where did you see them, and when did they disappear?"

The elf shrugged. "Couple weeks ago at most. Started disappearing, packs got smaller 'til they were all gone. Figured the guard was finally taking care of them. Saw a few over by the warehouses in the docks but they stopped coming too. Any more information will cost you."

Anders took out two silvers and handed them to the elf. "Feed yourself and a friend," he urged, and turned to leave.

"Hey, shem."

Anders looked back.

"Why do you even give a shit about us?"

Anders frowned. "Because everyone deserves to be treated equally. No matter what." He turned once more and left the alienage quickly, Justice clawing at his brain.

-

"You're back!" Hawke said, getting up as Anders stepped into the parlor. "Find anything?"

"I think so," Anders said, shrugging off his cloak.

"Anora's gone to look after her father and Zevran's lurking around," Hawke said. "Did you see Fenris?"

Anders nodded to Dorian in greeting, who was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, sipping from his flask. "No, he's not back yet?" He glanced at the clock. It was nearly quarter to midnight. "That late already. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

Hawke kissed his cheek. "It's fine. I was about to go look for you though. Maybe I should go search for Fenris."

"He likely just lost track of the time," Dorian said airily.

"No," Hawke said. "It's really not like him to do this." He took his staff in hand.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Anders asked, concerned.

"Nah, stay here. I'll bring him back. You two can keep watch on Loghain and the house. If I'm not back in twenty minutes… I guess… uh… just wait longer."

"Hawke," Anders started to protest.

Hawke grinned and kissed him. "I'm a big boy. I can look out for myself. Promise," he added, seeing Anders' look. He kissed him again and took the exasperated sigh as a noise of assent. Twirling his staff once, he started out of the house, stepping over the fresh salt line at the front door. _Paranoid bastard,_ he thought, glancing up at the second floor window before starting down the walk to the street.

He stopped, a movement across the street catching his eye. The high oil lamp just up the road cast the barest of light, throwing the rest of the area into shadow, which obscured his vision of the small, park-like lot. Something moved again and stepped into the dim light next to the wooden bench. A dog, but massive, its head boxy like a mabari's, chest broad and muscled. It was frothing at the mouth, white foamy saliva dripping from its jaw. Hawke heard the growl, saw its lips curl back from its teeth. He decided suddenly that tonight was not the night to play the hero, turned, and started to run back toward the house.

The dog gave chase, barking and snapping its jaws, leaping the garden fence as Hawke raced inside. He hoped – foolishly, perhaps – that the salt line would stop it, but the dog leapt again and knocked him down easily to the carpet. He heard the others shouting, but face buried, the heavy weight of the dog atop him, he couldn't see what was going on. He covered his head instinctively, anticipating an attack. He heard a deep growl, felt a sudden weight press down on him and then release, and realized as he looked up that Fenris, in his wolf form, had sprung from seemingly out of nowhere.

"Fenris!"

"Hawke, no!" Anders shouted, quickly grabbing and shoving him back.

The two canines grappled on the carpet, Fenris nearly twice the hound's size. Anders pulled Hawke further out of the line of fire while Dorian stood at the bottom of the stairwell, staff at the ready. It was impossible to get in a hit without striking Fenris with how fast he moved. The noise alerted Anora, who appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Don't!" Dorian warned her, holding up a hand as the fight continued.

"Fenris!" Hawke cried again as the hound got in a bite. Anders herded him back once more toward the stairs and Dorian gripped his arm tightly. Hawke struggled in the grip. "Let me go!"

"Do you have a damned death wish?" Dorian shouted over the sounds of growling and angry barking.

Fenris dodged another bite, leapt forward and pinned the house using his size advantage and snapped at its neck. The hound growled then whimpered. The aggressive snarling turned to quiet sounds of fear as its life left its body, the last death throes causing it to twitch until finally it lay still. Hawke wrenched himself from their grasp and crossed the room quickly, dropping to his knees by Fenris's side.

"Maker, so much blood," he breathed, hands moving across Fenris's fur, trying to determine where his wounds were. "Change back so I can see…"

Fenris whimpered, then transformed, and immediately curled into himself, clutching his side. "Hawke."

"You're so stupid," Hawke said, voice thick with worry. He looked at Anders. "Fix him?" he pleaded.

Anders nodded. "Let's get him into the other room. Can you carry – I guess you can," he said, as Hawke lifted him easily. He looked back to Dorian. "He'll be okay."

Dorian, who'd gone slightly pale, nodded before looking up at Anora. "We need a few minutes and then we'll… take care of the mess. Best lock yourself in with your father. And rethink the salt," he added, before following Anders into the next room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to move the posting format to one chapter a day, tentatively. Depends on how fast I can get Season 3 done but I need to go a little faster for my own sanity. Hope you guys enjoy!


	15. Rabid: Act 2

Fenris, naked to the waist with several thick cloth bandages wrapped around his middle, sipped some herbal tea made by Anders who was still slowly dressing his wounds. Little cuts and bruises were easier to heal now that the bite in his side was properly dressed, a poultice for drawing out impurities pressed to the injury. There was some brief speculation if whatever made the hound rabid would spread to him, and Anders assured them he'd seen this particular strain in Kirkwall and could treat it.

Dorian sat at his side, giving him worried, furtive glances, knee jiggling a bit as they spoke. Hawke, on the other side, was commenting on the bandages.

"Hawke," Anders said sternly, "I love you but if you don't shut up about my skills as a healer, I will hurt you."

"That goes against your very nature as a healer," Hawke pointed out.

"But not Justice's," Anders warned. "Fenris will be fine. After this, he'll just need some rest."

"Where were you?" Hawke asked, changing the subject.

"I caught an odd scent," Fenris explained. "I had my doubts about the summoned beast dog while I was near the docks."

"An elf in the alienage said all the strays were going missing." Anders frowned. "He mentioned the last pack disappeared near the docks."

"They're not gone," Fenris insisted. "There's a distinct trail from the warehouses to the park across the street."

"So someone's collecting all of Ferelden's strays," Dorian mused, leaning back, arm draped over the couch as he thought. "Seems they missed at least one," he said, pointedly looking at Hawke.

"Spare the jokes," Hawke warned him.

"You aren't the only one allowed a sense of humor."

"Why," Anders interjected, finishing up with the last few of Fenris's bruises, "would someone take stray dogs only to train them to come here? And why make them rabid?"

"It's a safe bet to say that they have a grudge against Loghain," Dorian said. "Though I doubt it's the Orlesians, mage or not."

"You don't think they hate him enough?" Hawke asked, reaching up to brush Fenris's hair from his eyes.

Fenris batted him away and pulled on his shirt, wincing, while Anders started to clean up his medical supplies.

"No, simply that they would go with something more refined than training dogs. I bet it's someone from Ferelden, probably Denerim, who hates Loghain for one reason or another."

"Well there are a lot of reasons for that," Anders said. "He was rather good at making enemies."

"So," said a new voice, interrupting them. Anora stood in the doorway, arms crossed, frowning. "What have you found out?"

Anders had the decency to look sheepish and turned away to continue packing up his things.

"We think we have a lead," Hawke assured her. "We're going to check it out."

"Good. Make sure you dispose of that carcass as well and let us know what you've found." She turned on her heel and left the room.

"...Damn," Anders swore softly.

"Don't worry about it," Hawke consoled him. "She's got to know her father's not the most popular man in Ferelden." He looked at Fenris. "Are you up for a stroll, or should we give it a day?"

"We should go now," Fenris said and tried to stand.

Dorian helped him to his feet. "We can put this off for another day."

"No," Fenris insisted. "Whoever's controlling the dogs, one of them is dead. He'll be on alert once he finds out. It's best we go now. Element of surprise."

"Just leave the fighting to us this time." Hawke ruffled his hair.

Fenris jerked his head, but smirked. "Do not put yourself in a position where I'll need to save your life. Again."

"Hey, that makes us at least even," Hawke protested.

"No, it doesn't."

"Ehn. You're probably right. Still, you're on tracking duty only once we find this guy."

Fenris agreed and they moved to the foyer. Hawke sighed and grabbed the dead hound's hind legs, dragging it out of the house and into the front yard.

"At least the decor was abhorrent before all that," Dorian muttered, looking at the long streak of blood.

"I assume that would taste different," Anders ventured.

Dorian filled his palms full of magical fire. "Quite disgusting, judging from the smell, though I've never tried. Like meat that's gone off and started attracting flies." He lit the corpse on fire, controlling the flames to keep them contained. It was reduced to ashes in seconds. "Distasteful. I may vomit."

"There's a handy bush," Hawke suggested helpfully.

Dorian wrinkled his nose. "Shall we just move on?"

"The bandages should be all right," Anders said, nodding to Fenris. "If you think you're up for it."

Fenris drew himself up, then transformed effortlessly. Skin free of blood, his fur was pristine now. Keeping his nose to the ground, he started off toward the docks, the others following close behind.

-

The smells around the docks were all very distinct, but the problem was they overlapped one another. Shipments containing spices from Antiva, different exotic foods from Rivain, Orlesian silks, it was all mashed together with unwashed dockworkers, dogs, and the pungent, unappealing, and overwhelming stench of fish. Fenris sneezed once, then again, growling lightly at Hawke who made a remark about wolf snot. He was tempted to wipe his snout on the man's leg to prove a point, but instead lowered his head once more to try to determine the source of the dog smell.

"We could just go searching the rows," Dorian suggested. "I don't know how you can smell anything in this," he added, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Though I suppose the sea air masks quite a bit of the unpleasantness."

Fenris nuzzled his hand, pleased when he received a few head scratchings, then resumed his search. The other three made quiet, idle conversation about the state of Denerim, what the Blight had done to the city, filling Dorian in on the history of what happened since. Fenris paused, a sharper scent above the rest catching his interest. A hound in heat. He'd long since mastered the urges to mate, but he could still suss out the different odors and let himself follow that path, picking up speed.

"Love it when he does this," Hawke commented, a hint of jubilance in his tone.

Fenris kept to the unoccupied rows, avoiding the late night dock workers, taking twists and turns through the warehouses before racing quickly down one of them. He skidded to a stop at a door of a smaller building and pawed rapidly at the bottom of it before stepping back and transforming. The other three weren't far behind, jogging up quickly.

"That's it?" Hawke asked. He handed his staff to Anders, then knelt to examine the lock.

"There are at least five in there," Fenris said. "One is a bitch in heat."

"He's breeding them." Anders frowned. "All to torment Loghain, or something else?"

"If he's home, we should ask him," Dorian said with a smile.

"Interrogation only," Hawke warned them. "Got it!" The locked clicked, and the door swung open. He stood and took his staff back from Anders, pushing a bit of mana forth to light the tip, and led the way.

Fenris followed, used to going in at Hawke's side, but his injuries ailed him. He refused to be a liability in a fight, and knew that he wouldn't be of much use if they had to fight an insane mage or whatever it was that was controlling these things. He kept himself behind Hawke and Anders, and felt Dorian next to him, a reassuring comfort through the stinging pain in his side. He wasn't quite sure what the mage meant to him, a few kisses and comfortable nights together confusing more than anything. But he reasserted his focus. Just because he couldn't fight on the front lines didn't mean he would let himself get distracted.

The long hallway they were in opened to a mostly empty room with two doors leading off elsewhere. A large sack of dog food sat slumped against a wall. Between the doors, a desk and chair, a heavy book open on the former. Anders approached, holding his staff low to read the pages.

"'I almost have it perfect. That rat bastard will never know what hit him once I can finally unleash my hounds on him.' Well it looks like we found his journal."

"Keep going," Hawke urged. He gestured Fenris to watch the door they'd come through and did the same to Dorian for the second one leading off, while he kept an eye on the third.

"'He'll pay for what he's done,'" Anders continued. "'There is no justice for elves in this or any other city. What happened to my brother is a crime graver than anything else. But will the nobles do a damn thing? No. And since Howe is dead, Loghain must shoulder the blame.'"

"Howe?" Dorian asked.

Hawke frowned. "Involved in the war. Did a lot of things that got hushed up. Rumor mill said some nasty stuff about him, but I never bothered to verify. Wasn't my department."

Anders turned the page, eyes widening. "'This is for my brother, who...' I don't think I should read this part."

"We can handle it," Hawke said. "If this guy is justified in his hatred of Loghain-"

"It says his brother was sold to Tevinter slavers. Along with half the alienage."

"Ah."

Fenris clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He didn't however, turn around, sure that he wouldn't be able to control himself if he had to come face to face with the others. Hawke hated slavery and took any job that meant killing slavers for dirt cheap. And he, Fenris, was all too happy to go with him outside of their usual hunts if it meant killing just one more. A nasty, condescending and hypocritical voice in the back of his mind spoke up, reminding him that Dorian was a mage, the son of a magister, a Tevinter who owned slaves. Here was evidence of a heinous act that his fellow elf was seeking vengeance for, and what was Fenris doing to help people like him? Nothing. Sleeping with the enemy. He felt his skin crawl.

"Disgusting business," Dorian said.

"What do you even care?" Fenris whirled around and Hawke was there at once, blocking him, one hand on his chest. "Hawke."

"You're going to say something you'll regret," Hawke said, his usual cheery tone devoid of any humor, expression hard. "Rein it in for just a bit longer. We'll go talk to this guy, see if there's anything we can do for him."

"We can get his brother back," Fenris growled. "Don't touch me." But the order was half-hearted.

Hawke instead pulled him in close, pressing his lips to Fenris's forehead, holding him in a one-armed hug, ignoring the dangerous noises emanating from him. "Prickly wolf. I'll handle it. Come on, I need you to watch my back." He let him go and approached one of the doors.

Fenris ignored Dorian who looked like he wanted to say something, and stood back, waiting. Anders took the other side of the door and on the count of three, Hawke unlatched it and stepped inside quickly, staff glowing brightly, casting a wide light through the hall. Fenris heard the swearing and shouldered past Dorian to follow Hawke inside. They stood on a low balcony overlooking the rest of the room. Empty cages lined the walls, a half a dozen dogs milling around the center of the room, chewing on something. Then the smell hit Fenris. He didn't need to be in his wolf form to recognize the stench of a corpse.

"The elf," Anders said, gripping the railing. His skin was peppered in light blue cracks and Hawke touched his back warily. "I'm… fine. But." He looked at Fenris.

Fenris felt sick. This elf, no matter his crimes, deserved better. He deserved to have someone listen to him. To have his brother back. And now he was dead and he would never have the justice he deserved. Vaguely he heard Hawke mentioning finding a member of the guard to take care of this, but he was already turning and walking out of the room, ignoring the others calling his name.

He transformed once he reached the main hall and fled the warehouse, needing to be alone.


	16. Rabid: Act 3

"Mage."

"You know," Anders said lightly, "you call me that, but Hawke and Dorian are mages as well. Why is that?"

Fenris, who was sitting against the vhenadahl tree in the alienage, looked over. "Because you annoy me."

"I suppose that's a fair argument. The others don't?"

"The others," Fenris sighed, realizing that Hawke must've sent Anders after him, "do not constantly harp on about how oppressed they are."

Anders frowned, crossing his arms. "Hawke's nobility. He gets away with a lot more than most mages ever would."

"Please do not remind him of that."

Anders laughed. "No, I shouldn't think that was a good idea. May I sit?"

Fenris gestured, feeling it was pointless to argue. "You do not mention Dorian."

"I thought it was obvious as to why _he_ wouldn't talk about his oppression, considering the current state of Tevinter. That," he said, sitting across from Fenris, "and I'm not sure you want to talk about him right now."

Fenris grunted. "You can tell Hawke I'm fine."

"I'm rather not in the habit of lying to Hawke."

"Then make an excuse."

"If you really want me to go, I will," Anders promised. He pulled his cloak around himself, setting his staff on the ground next to him.

"You nearly lost control back there. Your demon."

"Spirit," Anders corrected him easily. "And yes, I know. Justice has no concept of humanity. He sees things as right or wrong. It doesn't matter what that elf did to Loghain, just that he had wrongs committed against him and they weren't rectified."

"It is black and white," Fenris muttered, pulling his knees up to rest his elbows on them. "Tevinter slavers. Bastards."

"Every last one of them," Anders agreed. "But there's nothing we can do now. We don't even have names."

"We can kill Loghain."

Anders shook his head. "That would serve nothing but our own petty vengeance. I will not put myself – nor Justice – in that situation. I already have trouble keeping a hold on him. All the things that used to enrage me before, things I could do nothing about, I see them now, every guard that turns his head, every templar…" He clenched his fists.

"Mage."

Anders closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. "I get so angry."

"You do tend to state the obvious."

"It's a habit," Anders muttered, pressing his palms to his eyes before looking at Fenris.

"Better."

"He scratches at the back of my head. He means well but he doesn't understand time. For a spirit, action is the only thing that means anything. Without their purpose, they are nothing."

Fenris grunted. "Not so dissimilar from people."

"I suppose not." He paused, running his fingers back through his hair, loosening the tie. "Dorian is not a representative of his nationality."

Fenris scowled. "He doesn't need you to defend him."

Anders contemplated the tie for a moment before tucking it in his pocket. "No. I suppose not. Hawke tells me he's rarely seen you happier."

"Hawke," Fenris growled, "needs to mind his own business."

"That's the hazard of family," Anders said sadly. "He cares about you."

"He cares too much about a great many things."

Anders smiled. "I think he cares about you just enough. You've been together for a long time. He loves you."

Fenris bristled.

"Don't be like that," Anders urged. "If I didn't know any better, I would be jealous. I suppose I am just a bit."

Fenris looked up at him. "Why? We aren't-"

"No, but he would give his life in a second for yours."

"... He would yours as well."

"I think he would," Anders said, ducking his head to hide a smile and a slight blush.

Fenris paused, then sighed. "I suppose we have to save him from his own self-sacrificing stupidity."

Anders laughed again. "Yes, we do. And… Dorian?"

"I will speak with him. I… am aware that he is not Danarius."

"No," Anders agreed solemnly. "He'll fight with Hawke, but Hawke wouldn't allow him close if he didn't think he was a good person. And this business bothered him as well. He talked about the slave trade in Tevinter, the normalcy of it. No one should have to resort to that. I think he's starting to understand the issues with it."

"As if it's so difficult." Fenris glowered at him.

"When you were a slave, did you see a problem with it right away?" Anders asked gently.

Fenris looked away, ashamed. Because of course the answer was no. He didn't understand freedom until he had a taste of it. He'd wondered why slaves ran away regularly. He didn't know any better.

"Mages are the same way," Anders continued. "They think they're safe in the Circles. Some of the Harrowed ones never actually leave. It's horrible. I think that Dorian, while obviously not being on the worst side of slavery, was taught that it was normal. You don't have to listen to me, Fenris, and you certainly don't have to forgive him for his circumstances of birth. But… maybe you should talk to him about it."

"Why do you care?" Fenris asked, though his tone lacked any vitriol.

"Because of the way he feels about you. And how I think you feel about him. And life is much too short not to fall in love if you have the opportunity."

Fenris looked at him, the sad smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Is that why you decided to be with Hawke so quickly?"

Anders nodded a little. "I think that had a lot to do with it, yes. He saw me for what I was and didn't shy away. After Karl, after Danarius… after Justice," he tried once more, "I thought that part of me was over. Hawke showed me it didn't have to be." He stood, brushing himself off, and picked up his staff. "Will you come back?"

"I am not talking to Loghain."

"I think Hawke will handle that," Anders promised him.

"Then… yes." Fenris stood. "And mage?"

"Yes, Fenris?"

"...Never mind." Fenris started off, out of the alienage. Behind him, quietly, he heard Anders' whispered, "You're welcome."

-

In the end, Loghain released the magical beings that he was holding captive. Anora promised they would be returned unharmed and left with monetary reparations. They sat around a large table, Loghain turning over a little black Crow in his hands. The metal clinked against the tabletop and he frowned. Zevran eyed it with interest.

"While I have you to thank for taking care of this," Loghain said, "there is the matter of Orlais."

"We're heading there as soon as we're finished up with this business," Hawke promised. "We have a few more hours before daylight. Should get a decent enough start across the Bannorn."

Loghain nodded. "Will you report your findings to the crown?"

"If there's anything to find," Hawke promised, "we'll send word straight to King Alistair."

"I'm to understand he trusts you."

"After we helped him with his little problem-" Hawke cut off. "Did you summon the spirit of his deceased half-brother?"

Anora startled. "Cailan?"

Anders brought his palm to his forehead, but said nothing, while Dorian merely shook his head in exasperation.

"Hawke," Fenris intoned. "You have the subtlety of a sledgehammer."

"What? We still don't know who brought him back into ghost form or whatever he was. Spirit thing," Hawke said, waving a hand.

Loghain reached over and covered Anora's hands with one of his own. "No. I didn't. Perhaps that was-"

"The Orlesians," Hawke finished. "We'll make inquiries when we get to Val Royeaux. Now, as for the contract."

"I can transfer it to one of you. It should be a simple enough ritual."

"Again like the unpopular party favor," Zevran interjected.

"Zevran," Anders said, "what do you want? If Loghain releases you, you could die. Are you prepared for that?"

Zevran smiled sadly. "When you have lost the love of your life, dying doesn't seem so painful, does it?"

They fell quiet, as if the entire table was holding its breath. 

Finally, Dorian spoke. "Let the man have his peace."

"Thank you, my friend," Zevran said, turning to look back at the Crow.

Loghain withdrew a knife from his belt, placed the Crown on the table, and glanced at Zevran before looking back. He drove the blade through the center, releasing the power and the blood inside. Zevran's form disappeared instantly in a puff of shadow and feathers, which littered the table and the floor.

"That's… it then?" Hawke asked, lifting a feather. "Is he dead?"

"It was powerful necromancy," Dorian ventured. "It's possible he still lives, though in what form or where or how, it would be impossible to say."

There was a collective moment of silence before they got to their feet. Hawke shook Loghain's hand, assuring him again that he would head to Orlais to investigate. Anora walked them to the door.

"Thank you for helping my father. It's not much but here." She handed Hawke a small coin purse.

"Oh no, we don't take payment for our services," Hawke assured her, pressing it back. "Keep it. Buy a house somewhere in the country. Raise chickens."

Anora smiled. "I think my father might actually like that." She looked at Dorian and held out her hand.

"If you are ever in Minrathous, Lady Anora," he said, taking her hand. He bowed low and kissed her knuckles.

"I'll be certain to look you up. Take care of this lot."

"I shall," Dorian promised.

The door shut behind them, and Hawke looked sideways at Dorian, eyebrow raised.

"Definitely not my type," Dorian sniffed haughtily.

"Do you know you're too smooth for your own good? She had a crush on you."

"Of course she did," Dorian said, sounding affronted. "Anyone with any taste does. I mean, I even have a crush on myself."

"Maker's sake," Hawke sighed and pulled ahead, dragging Anders with him.

Dorian tried a winning smile on Fenris, pleased when Fenris shook his head incredulously. "Don't you?"

"I… admit feelings for you."

"Well now, that's definitely good to hear. I thought perhaps with one thing and another…" Dorian frowned.

"I believe I understand certain things better than I had," Fenris tried. "I'm afraid this will be complicated."

"This?"

Fenris huffed. "Does it need to be defined?"

"It might help. I'm not used to it being more than 'that'. So when you say 'this'…"

Fenris took his hand and entwined their fingers obstinately. "This."

"Ah. Well. I suppose we can work out the details on the road." He gave Fenris's hand a little squeeze.

Fenris was satisfied with that. After all, it was a long way to Val Royeaux.


	17. The Monster of 21 Faces: Act 1

The two men stared at one another, both glaring, neither blinking. One held a clipboard, the other a staff. The difference in stature was comical, the former nearly a head shorter than the latter, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. His face was red, his mouth set in a thin line.

"I will repeat myself one last time, monsieur," the bespectacled man said in a thick Orlesian accent, "there are no ships booked for passage at this time."

Hawke, glowering at the short harbormaster, stepped forward into his space. "Why not?"

"I do not have to tell you anything!"

Dorian slipped easily in between them, nudging Hawke back. "Ease up, the poor man's just doing his duty. Aren't you?" he asked, flashing the man a charming smile and winked. "Hi. Dorian," he said, holding his hand out.

The man eyed him warily, but shook it. "Henri."

"Henri, I do apologize for my friend. Fereldan, you know."

Though Jader was arguably a border city with both Fereldan and Orlesian inhabitants, the man was obviously disinclined to be favorable to Hawke. Or perhaps it was because he'd started berating him the second Henri told them he couldn't help them with passage across the Waking Sea.

"Of course," Henri said, sniffing haughtily. "As I have said, however-"

"We understand. We're also in a bit of a time crunch though and simply must get to Val Royeaux as quickly as possible." A lie, as they weren't pressed for time, but none of them wished to idle, nor travel by foot the miles it would take them to cross through the Orlesian Heartlands. "I hear," he said, leaning in conspiratorially, "that Jacques Fornier is performing his one man routine."

"Truly?" Henri said, perking up. Then he frowned, shaking his head. "I wish I could help you, monsieur, I do. But as I have said-"

"Could you maybe tell us why?" Dorian asked, smiling broadly, turning up the charm.

"You have to admit he's useful," Anders whispered to Hawke, who huffed and crossed his arms.

Fenris, on the other hand, was watching the interaction closely. Though he and Dorian hadn't quite yet decided what their relationship status actually was, he felt a strong possessiveness toward him. And Henri was getting a bit too close. Behind Henri, several ships were docked, obviously not going anywhere. Dozens of large boxes containing random cargo lined the area, waiting to be loaded but very few workers were in attendance. The ones that were appeared much more interested in playing cards and drinking than doing any actual heavy lifting.

"Reports of a sea creature," Henri said. "Large, monstrous. Something that has sunk four ships in the last two weeks. All trade by sea has stopped. The caravans are doing all they can but the western Waking Sea has been shut down. You'll not find a ship that will take you in that direction and the port's been closed by the mayor. If you seek passage to the Free Marches, perhaps Westhill or Highever-"

Dorian shook his head. "No, west is our destination."

"What kind of sea creature?" Hawke asked.

Henri scowled at the interruption. "One that sinks ships." He muttered something in Orlesian.

"Same to you, buddy!" Hawke snapped and Fenris pulled him away.

Anders hesitated, but spoke up. "We're mages."

"Yes, I can see that," Henri said, his tone flat as his eyes flicked from Anders' face to his staff.

"We can kill the beast," Anders offered.

"Not a bad idea," Dorian agreed. "Send us out with some decent sailors and we'll take it down for you. Everyone wins."

Henri sighed. "If only it were that simple. The mayor does not want the responsibility of lost lives. There would be so many issues. Reparations for next of kin and the paperwork alone-"

"Yes I can see how that might be an issue," Dorian soothed him. "But we're not like regular mages, you see. We're capable."

"Not that I am doubting your, er, prowess," Henri said apologetically. "The answer is no. I am sorry, monsieur. The hour is late. Perhaps you should find a bed at one of our finer inns before they're all full, hm? Then in the morning you can say, locate a carriage to take you down the Imperial to Val Royeaux."

Dorian gritted his teeth but nodded and thanked him. He inclined his head toward Anders and they walked away together to discuss their options.

"We might be able to find a quick carriage. Or horses," Dorian suggested. "I don't fancy how long it'll take us to get the capital, though."

"It might be our only choice." Anders sighed as they approached Hawke and Fenris, the former of which was leaning against a large cargo box, looking annoyed. "Are you all right?"

Hawke shrugged, irritated. "Bloody Orlesians. Think they're better than everyone. Stupid fucking nobles with their heads buried so far up their-"

Anders kissed him, soothing him at once. "No cargo ships and no commuter passage."

"And the mayor isn't keen on hiring anyone to take care of the beast," Dorian added. "Though I can't possibly imagine what's been sinking ships."

"We're not going to find out tonight," Anders said. "And it's getting late."

The sun was setting and while they usually traveled through the night, they hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a real bed since leaving Denerim. The silent consensus at Anders' words had them traveling up the high street into a likely looking inn where Hawke negotiated two small rooms and supper for them.

"They didn't have blood on the menu," Hawke said, somewhat apologetically to Dorian before they started up the stairs, intent on washing off the several days' worth of traveling before they ate.

"I'm quite sure I'll manage." Dorian thought idly about the flasks in his bag, which were running low.

"I'm going to talk to Alexius. See if he has any advice for us and update him on what's going on." Hawke spoke to him briefly after leaving Denerim to inform him of the dealings with Loghain, the hounds, and the Crow. The praise Alexius gave him left Hawke in a good mood and he hadn't even felt the slightest bit of jealousy when Alexius requested to speak with Dorian. "We'll meet downstairs in twenty minutes for food and figure out what happens next."

They separated, Hawke and Anders taking one, while Fenris and Dorian stepped into the other. Hawke immediately tossed his bag in the corner and began to strip, shameless in his nudity. Anders undressed much more slowly, watching him.

"Like it?" Hawke asked, smirking. He pumped cold water into the metal basin, which was large enough to crouch in, which he did after heating the water with a spell. "You want to wash my back?"

Anders, wearing only his smalls, took up the washcloth and did as he was bade, soaping up Hawke's back and rinsing away the suds. "It's a shame we only have twenty minutes."

"Less," Hawke said. "I still need to talk to Alexius."

"Alas," Anders sighed.

Hawke turned around, gripping Anders' wrist, and grinned. "Bet I can get you off in five." He leaned in and licked a stripe up Anders' neck. "Lose the smalls."

Laughing lightly, Anders did as he was told.

-

"It's better than our usual accommodations," Dorian noted, looking around the room. "Bit on the small side, but look, actual floor instead of dirt!"

Fenris shook his head but smirked, pumping water. "You are spoiled."

"Of course I am. I'm used to grand palaces and large estates with proper running water. Magical taps and fluffy towels." He sat on the bed and unlaced his boots. "Are you going to hold that against me?"

"Perhaps."

Dorian was about to protest when Fenris looked at him, amused. "Ah, I see. This is your way of tormenting me. Make fun of my upbringing and remind me of a home I can scarce return to."

"Would you want to?" Fenris asked, starting to undress.

"I… honestly don't know. I admit that seeing Anora with her father stirred up some rather unpleasant memories."

Fenris, stripped to his smallclothes, stood in front of Dorian. He hesitated, but placed his hands on Dorian's shoulders. "What your father did was unforgivable."

"Yes, I suppose it was," Dorian said sadly. "But I have to live with the consequences. As does he, though he doesn't exactly need to skip out on meals with his friends."

"You lied to Hawke."

"It's been known to happen," Dorian agreed.

"Drink."

"From you?"

"Try not to overindulge," Fenris remarked. "The last time you did…"

"Yes." Dorian remembered. Fenris transforming into the wolf to stop him. The problem was that he _liked_ it. Perhaps a bit too much. "Sit?"

Fenris did, tilting his head. Dorian inhaled, breathing in the sweat and dirt that clung to Fenris's skin. Part of him thought he should insist on Fenris bathing _before_ he bit him, but he liked the scent and felt his fangs elongating.

"Would you have slept with that harbormaster?" Fenris asked.

"No," Dorian said, nose brushing along Fenris's neck. "An Orlesian? I have standards."

"Indeed."

"I do!" he insisted. He felt Fenris's pulse quicken with excitement and arousal. "Besides, I want us to be very clear on where we stand." He licked the salty skin, causing Fenris to shiver. "Are we exclusive? I've never had that. I think I might like it."

Fenris inhaled sharply as Dorian's sank his fangs into his neck. His markings lit unconsciously, and his hand found Dorian's. As before, he felt the release of pheromones, becoming instantly aroused, needing to be touched. But he kept his mind. "Yes," he breathed. "Exclusive."

Dorian drank from him, the warm blood like honey on his tongue, until Fenris shoved him back. Groaning, Dorian licked his lips, then the wound on Fenris's neck, helping it to heal and tasting the last delicious drops before pulling away again.

"I would like that a lot," Dorian breathed. "Do we have time?"

Fenris chuckled. "If you think that Hawke and Anders haven't already started, then you haven't been paying attention."

Dorian realized as they hit the mattress together that all four of them might be late to supper.

-

The innkeeper didn't seem too put off by serving them later than the rest, pleased to save a bit of coin when Dorian declined the fish stew and Fenris deciding that bread and cheese was more to his taste. Anders tucked in ravenously and only hesitated a little when Hawke slid him the rest of his own bowl to finish.

"Alexius is looking into sea creatures large enough to sink ships," Hawke said, downing his ale and taking up the pitcher to pour himself another.

"What do you think it could be?" Dorian wondered, eyeing his own mug warily. He sipped, made a face, then took another.

"Sea dragon?" Hawke guessed. "Some kind of serpent."

"A very angry whale," Dorian mused.

"A giant fish that got hooked and released one too many times!"

"An angry herd of hippopotami."

"Now you're getting along," Fenris groused.

"Don't worry," Hawke assured him, "you're still the favorite. Judging from the mark on your neck, anyway."

Fenris scowled and pulled his cloak up higher around himself.

Hawke laughed and tossed him a hunk of bread. "There's really no use trying to guess what it is. We need to get on a ship and get out there. I'm sure we can kill it. Whatever it is."

"If we-" Dorian paused, head inclined slightly, and Fenris sat up, frowning.

"What is it?" Hawke asked, only to be shushed by Dorian.

Anders shrugged when Hawke looked at him, just as confused.

"Smugglers?" Dorian wondered.

"Pirates," Fenris corrected.

"Super hearing," Hawke realized.

"Hawke." This from Fenris, who held up a hand to silence him.

Hawke made a face and rolled his eyes before finishing off his second mug of ale.

"They're leaving at half past midnight," Dorian said. "Taking off once the workers have left for the night. They plan on sailing out silently."

"Val Royeaux," Fenris added, frowning. "For a special delivery."

"Euphemism for some rich nobleman's goods," Hawke guessed. "Either way, that's our ticket. We need to be on that ship."

"Stowing away might be difficult but it's our best shot," Anders agreed. "I suppose we should sleep while we can. Fighting a sea monster in the middle of the night might be a bit daunting."

The other three agreed, finished their food and drink, and returned upstairs, saying goodnight as they separated to their respective rooms.


	18. The Monster of 21 Faces: Act 2

The lamps along the docks were left cold. After all, there was no reason to light them with all the work halted. Despite this the night was still bright, the moonlight and stars throwing shadows along the rows of cargo. The Waking Sea, normally so rough in the day, waves crashing recklessly and without mercy against the rocks, was perfectly calm tonight. The water was inky and glass-like, reflecting the moon in its shimmering surface. They moved quietly over the cobblestones, Fenris leading the way in his wolf form. Though it wasn't entirely necessary; the pirates weren't exactly masking their position.

"Get those crates on board," a woman ordered, pointing a thin, bony finger at several crates of cargo. "Anything marked by our Carta friends needs to go _tonight_. And hurry up. The expensive cargo is already on board."

Hawke noted the symbol and gestured toward the other three. "I think I could probably pass for one of them, but Fenris you're too conspicuous," he whispered.

Fenris huffed, but didn't argue.

"No one would ever believe I was a pirate either," Dorian said quietly. "But I bet Anders could convince them he's the new healer."

Hawke nodded. "You two find a crate to slip into. Anders and I will come down to the hold just as soon as we can and we'll find a place to hide. With any luck they won't notice us."

"When has luck ever been on our side?" Dorian asked.

Hawke shrugged. "That's why we have a Plan B."

"Which is?"

"Hurling fireballs," Hawke said with a grin and tugged Anders away.

"Hurl fireballs," Dorian repeated dubiously. "On a wooden ship. He's brilliant, your Hawke."

Fenris shook his head. "He will insist he is. Come."

They pried open the lid to a likely looking crate, moved aside the contents – which, thankfully turned out to be sets of silks from Rivain – and settled down. Cramped together, Fenris could almost feel the anxiety rolling off Dorian and found his hand in the dark.

"Trust Hawke. He will get us through this."

"I'll let you trust him for both of us," Dorian muttered.

Fenris rolled his eyes.

-

Meanwhile, Hawke had struck up a conversation with one of the pirates. "Yeah we just got hired on at the last minute. Your captain saw us in the tavern. I'm looking for some extra coin. My friend here's really good at healing spells and I'm good for extra muscle."

The pirate, a tall, burly man with far too much beard and not nearly enough shirt, crossed his arms and looked down at them. "How much she payin' you?"

"Five silvers each now and twenty copper for each of your worthless hides we save," Hawke said, throwing out a low-ball amount.

The pirate snorted. "You must be desperate. Alright, start loading. You, pretty boy, get on the ship and make sure you're around if anyone needs a bandage." He walked away, seemingly satisfied.

"Pretty boy," Anders scoffed.

"Well he's not really wrong," Hawke said. "You are kind of cute." He grinned at the pink tinge to Anders' cheeks and glanced around quickly before kissing him. "Meet you in the hold. See if you can find the box they're in before they suffocate or something. Fenris would haunt me from the Fade." He hurried off to start loading boxes, leaving Anders to climb the ramp to the ship alone.

-

The hold was lit by a few carefully contained lamps but otherwise dark, especially the further back Anders looked. He used a bit of force magic to open the tops of the crates, praying quietly to the Maker that Dorian and Fenris hadn't ended up in one stacked on the very bottom of the others. He heard the anchor lift, knocking against the side of the ship and it lurched one way, then another, and started to move.

"Anders?" came Hawke's imploring whisper.

"Here!" Anders replied as loud as he dared. "Can't find them yet."

"Probably fell asleep. Lazy sacks-"

The top of one of the crates shuddered, as if someone had kicked it.

"Probably that one," Hawke suggested.

"You think?" Anders rolled his eyes good-naturedly and with Hawke's help, they lifted the lid.

"Aw, look how cute," Hawke said, peering in to see Dorian's head resting against Fenris's shoulder.

Fenris, however, was glaring. "Took your time."

"Just wanted to give you two lovebirds some time alone, you know. Amidst the… what the hell are those? Silk scarves?"

"Good quality, too," Dorian said, helping himself to a few, tucking them inside his pack. "What? As if you've never skimmed perks of this thankless job."

"Quite a few people thank us," Fenris pointed out.

"Fine," he acquiesced. "Job highly lacking in any type of fringe benefits that would otherwise make it largely worth it."

"We helped you out without any kind of benefits," Hawke noted. "In fact I'd say you joining up was pretty much the opposite of a benefit."

"Oh haha, the barbarian gets in a weak jab yet again. Don't you ever get tired of hearing the simple words that spill forth from your lips?"

"Don't you get tired of trying to breathe with your head up your own ass all the time?" Hawke shot back.

"Shush!" Anders cut them off. He was walking further into the darkness of the hold, staff out. "I heard something."

"Possibly rats," Fenris suggested. "The rest of the crew should be on deck. We heard them leave in that direction." He gestured toward the stairs.

"No," Anders said. "Don't you hear?"

For a moment they stood in silence in the dim light of the hold. The sound of the crew above, boots clomping on wood, the noise of the waves sloshing against the boat was all they could hear. But then, very faint in the distance, the sound of a child crying.

"That's not right," Dorian said, confused.

As one the mages lit their staves, moving further from the stairs and deeper into the bowels of the ship. The crying grew louder as did the sounds of shushing as they approached a wooden door, blocked by a large crate. Hawke and Fenris shoved it out of the way before Hawke bent to examine the lock. He shook his head, stood, and waved for them to back up. One good kick splintered the wood and the door swung open. The four of them stepped through and at once they realized what 'expensive' cargo was already on board. Perhaps fifty or sixty people, most of them elves, at least a third of them children, were crowded into the small room, several thick chains threading through manacles and iron collars, holding them captive.

"This…" Fenris started, but he was too livid to continue. His markings lit brightly and the prisoners stepped back quickly.

"This is sick," Dorian whispered, eyes wide.

"This… is not… justice."

"Anders?" Hawke asked, panicking a little as blue cracks began to appear in Anders' skin. "Anders, calm down."

" **No.** "

"Watch out!" Fenris shouted, grabbing both Hawke and Dorian and pulling them quickly out of the room.

They fell backward, tripping over each other as Anders began to change. He was tall before, but his frame expanded rapidly, a sizzle of blue electric energy shooting through his skin. His eyes widened and turned pupil-less, so bright they were almost white, mouth opening in a cry of rage. His staff clattered to the ground, forgotten, fingers elongating, nails growing into claw-like talons.

"Andraste's flaming pyre," Dorian swore, followed by a string of Tevene curses. He backed up quickly, dragging Fenris with him.

"Anders!" Hawke shouted.

"Hawke, no!" Fenris tried to warn him as Hawke got to his feet.

Behind them came a clattering on the stairs. The pirates must've heard the shouts, the cries of the slaves as they tried to shrink away from Justice, who was tearing the chains from the walls with his bare hands.

"What in the Maker's name is _that_?" one of the pirates exclaimed, and Hawke recognized him as the one who called Anders 'pretty boy.'

Hawke was about to yell at them to stay back but Justice shoved him out of the doorway. He hit the wall with a _thud_ , tunic burned away with the magical fire that seemed to radiate from Justice, a harsh red burn on his chest in the shape of a palm. Justice barreled through the hold like a rampaging gurn. The pirate had only time to raise his sword ineffectively before Justice was on him, grabbing his head in both hands and crushing it swiftly. Hawke, wincing at the pain in his chest, returned to the room to address the terrified prisoners.

"We're going to get you out of here."

"What is that thing?!" one of the elves demanded.

"He's uh… Don't worry. He's on our side," Hawke said. "I hope," he added as an afterthought. "Fenris!"

Fenris was there at once, helping Hawke pry away manacles, phasing his fist through the locks. He frowned when they winced and shied away from him, as if they were expecting him to turn into an abomination as well.

"Dorian," Hawke called back, "go keep an eye on Justice."

"The Void I will!" Dorian snapped, still wide-eyed in fear. "I've seen many terrible things, Hawke, but I have never, not once in my life, seen anything quite like _that_."

Hawke glared. "Fine. You finish up here then. I'm going topside. Keep this lot safe."

"Hawke," Fenris said, turning.

Hawke grabbed his arm, squeezed. "You can tell my funeral pyre, 'I told you so,' if I die." Before Fenris could argue, he hurried out of the room and carefully made his way over the broken bits of cargo boxes to climb the stairs.

-

The deck was a bloodbath. Hawke slid in a pool of it, catching himself before he fell. A headless corpse lay at the end of the long, crimson streak. Even without the light of the full moon, Justice would have been perfectly visible in the darkness. A large glowing ball of blue energy like a harbinger of death and destruction, he howled his rage. Though the pirates far outnumbered him, it was simply no match. Hawke watched Justice grab a scrawny man by the legs and swing him like a club, smashing him into the captain. She grunted, fell back, and lay still. As much as Hawke felt the need to stop this, two things held him back. One was the knowledge that these pirates were slavers, that they took innocent victims to be sold to the highest bidder.

The second, of course, was that Justice could pop his head like a grape if he felt like it.

Hawke had killed many slavers in the past, it had just always been somewhat of a fair fight. This was completely one-sided. Seeing Anders this way, he'd always known he was Justice, but it didn't quite register until this moment. Very slowly, extremely cautiously, he walked toward the bow of the ship, ready to run – to where? he wondered – if Justice turned on him.

Three of the pirates were cowering now, huddled together on the ground as Justice towered over them.

"Please!" one of them begged.

" **You take others and force them against their will. You sell them as if they are property. This is not Justice. I am Justice, and I judge you.** "

"Stop! Maker have mercy!"

Hawke grimaced, looking away as he heard the crunch of bones, then a splash as Justice threw one of them overboard. He caught movement behind him and looked, the would-be slaves emerging from the hold, Fenris and Dorian leading them.

"Justice," Hawke tried, turning back. "It's over, they're all dead."

Justice turned and looked at Hawke, eyes bright and full of righteous fury. " **The Hawke.** "

There was a momentary feeling of relief that Justice recognized him, though part of him still wanted to turn tail and run. Possibly to hide behind Fenris. He knew no one would ever let him live that down, however. "It's done. You saved the prisoners. We need Anders back now to tend to their wounds." _And mine,_ he thought, chest aching.

" **We will comply,** " Justice agreed.

But before he could release his hold, the ship rocked violently. The water churned, frothing madly, no longer the smooth, glassy surface from before. One enormous snake-like head emerged from the water, wicked-looking black fringe lining its long, pliable neck.

"Oh shit," Hawke gasped, realizing this must be the sea monster the harbormaster warned them about.

Another head, just as large as the first lifted from the water as well.

"Well. Fuck." Hawke turned his staff in hand, casting a shimmering shield around himself.

The two heads shook before crying out an ear-splitting roar. Behind Hawke, he heard the worried shouts of the prisoners. Then, incredulously, a third head rose from the sea, the waves knocking the boat again.

"You have got to be kidding me! Any more?" he shouted.

" **Do not taunt the beast,** " Justice warned him. His palms filled with bright blue flame. " **I will keep Anders safe. We must dispose of this creature if we are to get the people to safety.** "

"Brilliant plan," Hawke said. "You lead, I'll follow."

Justice grinned, a maniacal sort of frenzied expression, and the sky itself answered his magic, lightning streaking across the inky black, the stars all but disappearing, followed by the loud crack of thunder.

Not for the first time, Hawke was just glad that Justice was on their side.


	19. The Monster of 21 Faces: Act 3

First it was a spirit abomination with a penchant for popping heads, and now a giant hydra that seemed to want to set their ship on fire. Dorian wasn't sure how much excitement he could take in one night, but he knew that with Hawke, Fenris, and Anders – no, _Justice_ – heading the attack at the bow of the ship, he needed to corral the prisoners before someone got hurt. Well, he thought, looking at the pools and streaks of blood on the wooden deck, someone _else_.

"Children downstairs!" he ordered, ushering the little ones back the way they'd come. "Any infirm who can't fight, elderly, shoo! Off with you, go quickly. Break open the boxes downstairs, find anything that might be useful fighting a… a giant three-headed…"

"Hydra!" piped up an elven child who was being tugged along by her mother.

"So helpful," Dorian said, without sarcasm. _It'll be nice to know what I'm about to be eaten by, after all._ "Off you go!"

Before he could order the others, it seemed they were already spreading out. Men and women alike took up weapons from the dead pirates. Two shimmied up the mast to the crow's nest. He watched one of the elves, older with grey hair, shouting orders for rigging before getting on the ship's wheel himself. He looked like he'd been doing it his whole life. Dorian, who only ever went sailing when it suited him and certainly never learned how to work any part of the ship except the wet bar, was both relieved and impressed. Staff in hand, he raced toward the bow of the ship, which was turned away from the creature now.

One of the creature's heads lunged forward and Fenris, lyrium lines flaring at once, phased just in time for it to pass through him almost harmlessly. He solidified at the last second, glowing as brightly as Justice as the head exploded in a shower of bone and gore. The other two heads cried, feeling the pain of the loss and reared back.

"Port side!" someone yelled.

A harpoon went sailing through the air, catching one of the hydra's necks. Dorian let loose a volley of flame, backing up Hawke's lightning wires which he commanded with practiced grace, searing the slick black flesh from the creature's bones. Justice continued to call the tempest, containing the savage storm atop the hydra, striking it with rain and pelting it with hail. The ship continued to turn, moving quickly out of the hydra's attack range, though the waves continued to cause it to rock violently. Several people were thrown off their feet, but there was no cry of anyone going overboard.

_Thank the Maker for small mercies,_ Dorian thought, and quickly cast a barrier over Hawke and Justice.

A sizzling streak of black ichor flew from one of the hydra's heads, hitting the deck and instantly creating a gaping hole.

_I take it back!_ Dorian thought viciously.

"Fire!" Hawke shouted to Dorian. "On three, light it up!"

Dorian gathered his mana, tendrils of fire dancing around him as Hawke prepared for a similar strike. He spun his staff and turned, swinging it forward, the fire spewing forth in a tightly controlled spiral from the tip. Hawke's electricity joined it, swirling around the column of flame and their aim struck true. The second head thrashed wildly, screaming in agony as its flesh melted away. The final head, perhaps sensing defeat was imminent, fought harder, like the wounded, cornered beast that it was. It reared back.

"It's going to ram us!" someone shouted.

In the brief second before it struck, lightning lit the night sky bright as a summer's day, the thunder to follow deafening them all. Justice stood, arms raised, the wind whipping around him, rain pelting both him and the hydra alike. It took Dorian and others a moment to recover, to realize what Justice had done. The third head had split clear open, on fire and smoking, a single, enormous bolt of lightning smiting it as if the Maker himself had thrown it from the heavens. Hawke and Fenris leapt forward as Justice started to fall, disappearing over the side of the ship. Dorian held his breath but released it a second later, relieved when Hawke and Fenris hauled up not the spirit but Anders, who was unconscious.

The hydra's corpse sank below the waves and a giant cheer rose from the former captives. One of them slapped Dorian on the back congenially, to which Dorian offered a weak smile. He hurried over to his friends and took Anders from both of them, though Hawke didn't want to seem to let go.

"You're exhausted, man!" Dorian snapped. "Let me get him to a bed. You can sit with him stubbornly for the rest of the night if you wish."

Hawke was too tired to argue and followed Dorian back below deck. They took the captain's quarters, as they were private in comparison to the barracks-like bunks for the rest of the crew. Dorian settled Anders carefully into bed and let Hawke fuss over him for a few minutes, removing torn and tattered clothing, inspecting the damage.

"Not a mark," Hawke breathed. "Just tired, then."

"Opposed to you," Dorian said, gesturing at the torn tunic.

Fenris lingered in the doorway, covered in the blood from the hydra, his white hair looking pinkish now. "Will the mage live?"

"Yes," Dorian said, glancing over at him. "Maker's breath, Fenris."

"What?"

Dorian shook his head, looking back to Hawke, who was sitting at Anders' side, holding his hand, stroking his cheek. "Nothing, I…"

"It's a trick I often use," Fenris assured him. "I'm fine. Simply tired. Hawke?"

"I'm fine," Hawke managed, tearing his eyes away from Anders. "You should get cleaned up. Get some sleep. Or… the elves."

"I'll talk to them," Dorian assured him. "Get some rest yourself. I'll see about food for when you both wake. Without that bloody hydra, getting to Val Royeaux should be fairly simple now." He doused the lantern and shooed Fenris back, shutting the door to give Hawke his privacy with Anders. "You are an absolute mess."

Fenris shrugged, a hunk of the hydra falling from his breastplate. "I… suppose I should clean up."

"Well, I'm certainly not giving you any celebratory kisses with you looking like _that_."

Fenris rolled his eyes, grabbed the front of Dorian's robes, and pulled him down for a messy, bloody kiss. Dorian flailed and pulled away.

"Oh, eugh! You are…" Dorian wiped his mouth off. "You are the absolute worst. Go bathe. I'll speak with the others."

As he hurried to go find the elf that had taken charge during the fight, he heard Fenris laughing behind him.

-

When they pulled into Val Royeaux's port, the ship's deck had been cleaned to the best of the new crew's ability. Cargo broken open, they distributed new clothing to those who needed it, as well as the foursome that had saved their lives. As they had no need of the ship, Hawke informed the former captives that they were now the proud owners of a pirate vessel.

"Try to do better with it than the former crew, yeah?"

The elderly elf – who introduced himself as 'just Sam' – promised them they would. "Those who have no homes to return to will find a land to settle, to call our own."

"Watch out for the Carta," Hawke warned them. "Sell what you can of whatever's not useful."

"Dareth shiral, ma'falon. Farewell, my friends. Go with Mythal's blessing."

They descended the ramp, waved good-bye, and watched the ship pull slowly from the port. Anders leaned heavily on Hawke and on his staff, still exhausted from his change. Hawke kissed the top of his head as Anders rested against his shoulder.

"...Do not stare at me, mage," Fenris said, as he turned away from the ship, and realized Anders was watching him.

"Sorry," Anders said tiredly. "It's difficult to look away."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Should I be jealous? Though I can hardly blame you," he said, winking at Fenris, who scowled.

"It's… Justice."

"What, again?" Hawke asked, tensing.

"No," Anders clarified quickly. "Justice likes lyrium. He says it sings to him. When Fenris used his markings… Well, frankly I can't exactly have a conversation with him, but if I had to try to translate this swirling in my head I would say that Justice had something of a crush on you because of them."

Fenris quickly crossed his arms and his scowl deepened when Hawke started laughing. "It would be preferable for the mage's pet demon to be fond of _you_ ," Fenris assured him. "Stop that," he snapped at Dorian, who was snickering a bit.

"Oh no," Hawke said, leading them away from the dock, still supporting Anders. "I am not going to get between a spirit and his true love!"

"Perhaps we ought to plan the wedding," Dorian mused.

"I really detest when you two get along," Fenris muttered.

Hawke started to say something else, but stopped, shifting Anders a little as he felt inside his pocket and pulled out the runestone. It thrummed with magical energy and he swiped his finger across it. Alexius appeared, though shrouded in smoke and shadow. "Have I got a lot to tell you."

"As good as it is to see you in one piece," Alexius said, "I have information. Empress Celene is going to throw a grand ball."

"We were going in that direction anyway," Hawke assured him.

"Her cousin, the Grand Duke and arguably rightful heir to the throne, will be in attendance. He'd fallen off the grid for a few weeks. People thought he was dead or plotting against the empress. There are rumors circulating that he spoke with several questionable people and will reveal 'something magnificent' at this ball. Intelligence believes it might be linked to RTD. Possibly something that will accelerate his plans. Can I trust you to handle this?"

"Of course you can!" Dorian interjected cheerfully, poking his head into Alexius's view. "Tell Felix I said hello!"

Alexius sighed. "Yes, of course. Hawke?"

"You got it. I'll tell you about the hydra we fought next time we talk."

"Hydra?"

"Long story," Hawke assured him. "See you soon." He turned the stone in his palm, then slipped it back into his cloak. "Well," he said, glancing up at the city sprawled out in front of them. "Let's go find an inn and figure out how to crash a ball."


	20. Bloodbath: Act 1

There were some mornings, Celene thought, that her favorite blend of Rivaini spice tea simply didn't ease the headache or the tension that arrived daily. After her handmaidens helped her dress for the day, she dismissed them in order to have a few peaceful, precious minutes to herself before she would need to oversee not only her normal duties, but attend to the finalities for the ball that evening. The minutiae of her everyday life was starting to wear on her, and on days like today, she wondered why she held out against marrying Gaspard, or simply didn't step down altogether. She sighed and reached for her teapot, pouring herself another cup and took a sip, eyes sliding from her mirror to the window, where she could see quite a bit of her fair city. And that, she realized, was why she wouldn't step down or yield half her power. Gaspard would undo all that she'd done, advancing the arts, pushing for the universities to diversify, to utilize all the talent that Orlais contained, not just human ones.

The tea eased a bit of her headache but not all, and she continued her makeup ritual, painting her face, lips the reddest rouge. Her gown was a deep, royal purple that matched her family's heraldry. The skirts were heavily layered, alternating in sheer and opaque fabrics. Golden thread was woven in intricate patterns throughout and if the light caught it just right – and it would – one would see the Valmont family lion in the stitching. The neckline fell off her shoulders as was the latest fashion, solid gold studs sewn in to increase its opulence and fashionability. Her hair was braided and knotted at the back of her neck, small white flowers weaved intricately into the locks. She decorated her fingers with several rings, and slipped on a golden bracelet, all of which served a purpose, either political or strictly strategic, her favorite ring inset with a fire rune.

To finish her ensemble, a white mask adorned with shining amethysts and yellow feathers – paler than the chevaliers, and numerous, so as not to cause disrespect to the noble band. Not that she cared about disrespecting Gaspard, but if word circulated that she committed a horrible gaffe as to insult the chevaliers... well, they would be even less enthused with her reign than they were right now. She could not afford to lose more of them to Gaspard's cause. This ball was the last chance she had before her cousin did something drastic, or so she felt. She was running out of time.

-

"My dear cousin," Gaspard greeted her, standing like the gentleman she knew he wasn't. Gentlemen, after all, did not plot to undermine and overthrow their empress.

She allowed him to take her hand and felt the briefest of kisses against her knuckles. Years of training allowed her to remain stoic and not bristle at the touch or scowl at the man before her. Her champion, Michel de Chevin, followed her into the sitting room and held her chair for her, though there was no real need. The heavy oak would hardly budge as she took her seat. Still, he was perfect in everything he did, everything she demanded of him, and she demanded a lot. He retreated exactly one step and stood resolutely while Gaspard took his seat.

"I thought we were going to wait until this evening for the negotiations," Gaspard said, an amused sort of smile on his lips. The upper half of his face was concealed as it normally was by his chevalier's mask.

"I am told you plan to show us something marvelous at the party." The accusation was there without being stated outright. She had no desire to kill her cousin, but would if he pressed the issue. Avoiding that was her main goal, as there were many nobles loyal to Gaspard, those who thought he should have taken the throne instead of her.

"Indeed," he said, leaning over and plucking a heavily decorated tart from the tray on the coffee table. He popped it into his mouth, delicately dabbing the crumbs from his lips before smirking again. "It will be quite the surprise."

"How you do love to keep us in suspense," she pressed.

"Now, now, you've heard the saying about curiosity and the cat."

Celene carefully guarded her expression, wondering if it was a veiled threat or her cousin simply being careless with his words. He never did care for the Game, hence why he fell so far behind when it was time to take the throne. She'd been playing far longer than he, and he would always struggle to catch up. That wasn't to say that he wouldn't simply try to kill her outright. But he wouldn't, not unless he had more than half the noble houses behind him. Otherwise her death would be considered treason and he would be executed shortly after. Celene had no children, no real heir. Should she die of natural causes or a freak accident, the throne would pass to Gaspard. But if he was dead as well, it would go to his sister, Florianne. Celene shuddered mentally at _that_ thought. Florianne was less subtle than her brother and much more ambitious. Gaspard, at least, could be reasoned with.

"Yes, but I do believe the conclusion of that statement resumes with the cat's satisfaction and continued living."

Gaspard chuckled. "Do you have so many lives as a cat that you would throw one away on this? When the party is mere hours away?"

"As hostess, I do have an obligation to my guests-"

"Your guests will be perfectly fine" Gaspard said, standing, and his gaze slid to Michel, who stepped forward one pace – not a threat or a warning, just a precaution. He leaned down to choose another tart. "You'll have nothing to fear from me tonight, dear cousin." He popped the tart into his mouth and strode confidently from the room, smirking at Michel as he left.

"I think an extra guard at the doors," Celene said, brow furrowed beneath her mask. "Would you agree?" She stood, brushing off her skirts.

"That would be most wise, Majesty. Shall I see it done?"

"Yes. I should like to walk the gardens alone to contemplate the evening. I'll expect you at my side tonight. I believe something… monumental may occur."

Michel bowed low and left the room to fulfil the order.

Celene sighed. Unpleasant business over with for now, she resumed her walk through the palace, examining the decorations for that evening. It wasn't what she was used to, most of her celebrations held at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. Val Royeaux was more central and she would need to make a point of her power. Many noble families, those that supported her openly and those who supported Gaspard quietly, would be there. If Gaspard was going to make a move tonight, the nobles who declared for her would be in danger. She had no intention of letting them get hurt. Everything, she realized, was riding on tonight. Everything had to be perfect, and it would be.

She gained the royal gardens, breathing in the morning air and felt a bit of tension ebb away. No matter what Gaspard had planned, Michel would be there to keep her safe. And if he failed, she had her loyal Briala, who was checking the last minute preparations for her. It was tricky, trusting others than herself to deal with a plan this large. Gaspard seemed determined to put a spoke in the wheel, potentially upsetting everything. If that was how he wanted to play the Game, then she would respond in turn.

"You stupid rabbit! I don't know why they even hired you to-"

Celene rounded the corner quickly and saw a man she recognized from one of the lower noble houses of Lydes berating a young elven girl. The girl, Celene thought, looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place her. "Enjoying the gardens?" she asked.

The man rounded, obviously ready to put Celene in her place as well until he realized who she was. Behind his simple silver mask his face reddened and he bowed low. "Your Radiance."

The elf dropped to her knees but said nothing.

"It would appear that our gardens are not quite to your standards. Tell me, are the roses in bloom so early in Lydes this time of year?" Celene drew a finger over one of the rosebuds, but kept her gaze on the sputtering nobleman the whole time.

"I… ah, no, Your Radiance. Simply that-"

"Tatrina, is it?" Celene said, hoping that was the elf's name. There were quite a few that worked the kitchens.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Come with me. I find myself short a hand this afternoon and I think you'll serve quite nicely. That is," she added, looking at the nobleman whose name she didn't bother to try to remember, "if you're quite finished with her?"

"Yes, yes of course, Your Radiance!" He bowed again.

Celene turned, confident that the elf girl would follow her, and led her without further comment out of the gardens.

-

"Are you familiar, Tatrina, with duties outside the kitchens?" Celene asked, entering her private chambers. "Close the door, dear."

Tatrina did, her dark brown curls bouncy lightly about her shoulders as she turned. She looked small and lost beneath her simple servant's mask. "Yes, Your Majesty. I have some experience with being a handmaiden. They thought it more suiting that I work the kitchens, as my mother was a housemaid."

"You'll suit my purpose well, then. Please be a dear and draw me a bath."

Surprised, perhaps, that was all Celene was asking her to do, Tatrina retreated to the bathing chamber and turned the taps. The dwarven enchantments took over, the tub filling quickly. Though it was painful to undress and redress several times a day, Celene was well-versed in this tradition. Besides, she wouldn't have worn the same thing to the party that she was seen in earlier that day. With Michel seeing to the security and Briala taking care of the tiny details, she could afford to take an hour to bathe and relax.

She left her hair up but removed her mask and wrapped a thin, silk robe around her nude form. Tatrina was leaning over the tub, testing the water. Celene approached silently, barefoot, and gently touched her hair.

"You have such beautiful locks."

Tatrina blushed and stammered.

"And you're so young still. Your smooth skin." Celene slid her hand from the elf's hair to her cheek, and cupped her chin, standing directly behind her. "I have grown tired, lately. I am not as young as I was when I took the throne."

"But still beautiful, Your Majesty," Tatrina whispered, a hint of fear in her tone.

"Such a darling. You'll probably be missed."

"I'll be wha-" 

She cut off with a gurgled cry as Celene drew a straight razor across her neck, spilling her blood into the heavily perfumed bathwater. Celene held her chin up, warm rivulets of scarlet running over her fingers. Tatrina twitched in her final death throes and when the blood finally slowed, the bathwater was tinted pink. Celene dragged the body to a concealed chamber behind a bookshelf and set her down to be taken care of later by Briala. No doubt she would receive a lecture on using yet another elf. She would have preferred the nobleman, but with how tired she'd been feeling lately, she doubted she would have been able to overpower him and then drag his corpse away.

Dropping the blood-stained robe on the floor, she took care not to slip as she stepped into the warm tub. She wiped her fingers on her face, carefully rubbing the elf girl's blood into her skin, especially around her eyes before leaning back, and watched the steam rise above the water's surface. _Just an hour,_ she thought, closing her eyes. Then she would see to the rest of her day.


	21. Bloodbath: Act 2

"You look miserable," Anders noted, fixing Hawke's collar.

"I _am_ miserable. Take pity on me," Hawke pouted.

They managed to obtain three invitations to the party, passing as cousins of some noble house to the far west in a city no one truly cared about. Fenris, however well disguised, would never pass for an Orlesian noble and would be acting in the capacity of a bodyguard-slash-servant. A point which annoyed him to no end. Not that Anders could really blame him. But they were all playing parts now, except Dorian, who seemed perfectly at ease in the frippery.

"I do. I pity you all the time," Anders teased and kissed him before helping him with his mask.

Their outfits were obtained second hand in a seedier quarter of Val Royeaux, where the merchants wouldn't ask questions so long as you had enough coin. Steaming the fabric with a combination of magicks quickly removed wrinkles and stains and the result was a trio of passable fancy dress outfits.

"It's like when I'm forced to dress up for parties back home."

"You don't dress up," Fenris pointed out, plucking strands of fabric from his sleeve. "The last party you attended, you wore a tunic and leather pants and no shoes."

"I'm a trendsetter," Hawke insisted.

"No. You aren't."

"How would you know anyway?"

"Because no one ever copied the look." Fenris sighed, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt and pulled on the fingerless leather gloves.

Dorian, who was carefully applying kohl around his eyes, glanced over at Fenris. "Everything all right?"

Anders winced. The question was sure to start another tirade. And while he wholeheartedly supported Fenris's ranting about how elves would always be treated as second class citizens, he didn't appreciate being snapped at when he tried to support his arguments.

Fenris, however, seemed out of steam and shook his head. "No."

Anders inclined his head to Hawke and led him to the other side of the room. Not that it was very large. They were staying in a modest inn, not having the clout to impose upon so many of the estates in the city. Besides, they would have a better chance of staying under cover if they limited their exposure to the party goers. Anders handed his mask to Hawke who gestured for him to turn around. Anders did so, trying not to listen to the quiet conversation between Fenris and Dorian.

"He'll be okay," Hawke muttered against Anders' ear as he tied the mask. "We've been through worse."

"But never where he had to pretend to be your servant," Anders whispered back. He stifled a gasp when Hawke suddenly pulled him close. The thin silken fabric did nothing to hide the outline of Hawke's cock, pressed close now against his backside.

"You care about him even though he treats you-"

"Like a mage?" Anders suggested and leaned so he could look at Hawke. Beyond the black and red mask he could see those shining green eyes. "We've come to a quiet agreement regarding our animosity."

"It's worse after… Y'know. The thing."

"Justice," Anders said flatly. "You can say his name."

Hawke shrugged. "It's terrifying seeing it from this angle, love. I'm sorry."

Anders frowned. Hawke was tactless, he knew that. But to call Justice a 'thing' and then state he was terrifying?

"...I said something stupid, didn't I?"

"Phenomenally," Anders agreed.

"Would you believe I was getting into character as a noble?" Hawke tried.

"No. But you can make it up to me."

"How?" Hawke asked, eager.

Anders let his hands slide over Hawke's, which held him around the middle. "I'll think of something. Until then, try to play the part without being an ass."

Hawke grinned and kissed him. "I promise."

"Are you two ready?" Dorian asked, fingers entwined loosely with Fenris's as they joined them.

"If I must be," Hawke sighed heavily. "This shall be my greatest performance!"

"Opposed to the time you lost your pants when-"

Hawke covered Fenris's mouth. "No! Nuh-uh. Friends, remember?"

Dorian smirked. "I seem to recall this being mentioned before. Something about the knight-commander's party?"

Fenris licked Hawke's fingers, causing Hawke to exclaim and pull back, making a face. "Not to mention there was a mabari-"

"Shh!" Hawke said, wiping his hand on Fenris's tunic. "Or I'm demoting you from best friend status."

"It would seem I'm already your manservant," Fenris sighed.

"Maker, no," Hawke said, looking repulsed. "Only stuffy nobles need those. I wouldn't know what to do with a manservant."

"No wonder Anders seems so very bored," Dorian remarked airily.

"Haha," Hawke mocked. "Oh, so funny my sides are splitting. Can we go? Are we ready to go?" He took Anders by the hand and dragged him bodily from the room.

Anders glanced back at Fenris, mouthing, 'Mabari?' and Fenris shook his head. 

Dorian, however, squeezed his hand gently as they followed the others out. "You know you'll have to tell the rest someday."

"Perhaps," Fenris mused. He smirked a bit. "It depends on Hawke's behavior."

"Oh," Dorian laughed. "Then I will definitely be privy to it sooner than later."

-

Anders tried not to fidget as they stood surreptitiously to the side of the grand ballroom. It opened to the gardens which he thought he would've preferred. At least he wouldn't have felt so claustrophobic. But Hawke was next to him and he knew he had nothing to worry about. There weren't even any templars at the palace.

"Obscene amount of guards, though," Dorian said, as if reading Anders' thoughts. "That's not normal."

"They don't stack them up in Kirkwall so much either," Hawke confirmed. "Maybe they're expecting a fight."

"Are you sure it's wise to let Fenris stay outside the main hall?" Dorian asked, snagging a glass of champagne. "Shouldn't he stay with you?"

"Would you prefer it if he followed you around instead?" Hawke retorted. "It would be just like being back home."

"Hawke," Anders sighed.

Dorian's glare was quite visible beneath his mask. "Being protective of your friend is one thing, but implying that I'd prefer to have him as my slave-"

"That's enough," Anders snapped. "Look, we're not doing any good standing around here. At least Fenris is actually doing something. Let's search the rooms. Gaspard has to be hiding whatever it is somewhere. And you both should quit before you say something you regret." Highly irritated, nervous, and tired of listening to Dorian and Hawke bicker, Anders turned and strode away, leaving Hawke at least to scramble after him.

"What is it?" Hawke asked, as they stepped out into the hallway.

"The empress would like all guests to stay within the ballroom or the gardens," a guard called after them.

"Lover's tiff," Dorian said quickly, tossing him a gold sovereign. "I'll make sure they don't cause the wrong kind of scene." He winked at the guard and followed them both around the corner and up a flight of stairs. "You could try to exercise a bit more subtlety."

"You two need to work out whatever it is that's bothering you," Anders said, arms crossed.

"Er... I don't think now is the best time," Hawke said, looking at Dorian.

"Soon. Before the next mission." Anders wasn't budging on this. "Fenris and I can get along with minimal bickering, so can you. Or maybe it's better to split the team. After all, I do have my clinic that's been waiting Maker knows how long."

"No!" Hawke protested. "No, no. We'll work it out. Right?" He looked at Dorian.

Dorian tilted his chin up and sniffed a little, haughty. But his expression softened just a fraction. "If only for Anders' sake. The tales I've heard about that place-"

"Don't insult my clinic."

"Yeah, don't insult his clinic," Hawke repeated.

Anders sighed. "Let's go. We need to find where this thing is before Gaspard ends up hurting a whole lot of people."

"They're just nobles," Hawke muttered, but followed dutifully.

They searched in silence for quite some time, Hawke unlocking doors easily. Every room was either another bedroom or storage and with each room they turned up nothing. With time quickly running out, they were starting to get a little desperate.

"It would've been nice of Alexius to give us just a slight bit more information," Dorian mused. "A hint, perhaps, as to how big it is. Larger than a breadbox? Is it plant, animal, or mineral?"

"He did the best he could," Hawke said, immediately defensive.

"I'm well aware."

"Yeah? You don't sound it. In fact, you don't sound very confident when it comes to him at all," Hawke shot back. He'd always looked to Alexius as a surrogate father figure after Malcolm passed on and wasn't pleased with Dorian's jabs.

"Please, spare me your lectures. I've known Alexius much longer than you have, and more intimately than you ever will." Dorian waved a hand dismissively.

Anders, already having expressed his irritation with their bickering once, forged on ahead, ignoring them. He rounded a corner quickly, too quickly, and crashed into a man dressed in a very fancy doublet and mask.

"This wing is off limits to guests," he snapped, not even bothering to apologize for nearly flooring Anders. "Who are you? Are you even on the guest list?"

"And who might you be?" Dorian asked, charming smile in place as he slipped between Anders and Hawke. "My good man, we were just looking for…" He glanced around conspiratorially, "a bedroom." He winked. "Or well, any room with a couch. A rug on the floor? You know how these things are." One hand pressed against the man's chest, pushing him to the wall.

Anders took a quick step back, flushing pink, and it only took Hawke a second to realize why. Dorian was emitting a serious burst of vampire pheromones. When he looked closer he could see that Dorian's eyes were flat black. He was going to strike.

"Yes, I understand," the man whispered as Dorian undid his collar.

"But we can leave them behind if you'd like to help me find a room for just the two of us."

"I… I think I would like that, monsieur."

Hawke winced when Dorian's fangs extended and tried not to watch or listen when the man moaned in ecstasy. Less than ten seconds later he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"Did you kill him?" Anders asked, frowning.

"No, but only because I knew I'd hear protests," Dorian said, running his thumb along his lower lip and licking a drop of blood from it. "Orlesian. Ehn." He made a face. "I've had better."

"...Disgusting," Hawke said, but it lacked the usual vitriol he reserved for Dorian.

"That was quick thinking." Anders knelt to check the man's pulse then laid him down comfortably on the floor instead of propped up against the wall. "I don't think we're going to find whatever it is Gaspard is hiding. Maybe we should head back."

"I agree," Dorian said. "The palace is too large for a proper search and we haven't much time."

Hawke frowned. "And if it's a weapon of some sort?"

"Then we do our best to keep everyone safe," Anders sighed.

"If we're lucky maybe Fenris will have found something," Hawke said as they started back the way they came.

"Well yes," Dorian noted, "but when have we ever been lucky?"

-

Fenris, in fact, had been berated by no less than four different people, called a various number of names (none of which were pleasant), and was ordered to start serving drinks. Irritated, but knowing Hawke would be proud of him for not rightfully removing organs from the guests, he decided to avoid any more angering chastisements and found a private corner in which to transform. From there it was a matter of staying to the shadows, phasing into the lyrium ghost form as a wolf. While no doubt they'd heard of _Fen'Elgar_ , or 'The Spirit Wolf' in Orlais, he knew he'd been reduced to something of a fairytale, perhaps elevated to a legend. It was difficult to say. But it would work to his advantage now. If anyone did see him, they would insist it was their imagination or too much wine.

As he slinked through the corridors more like a cat than a canine, he caught the undeniable scent of blood. It was fresh. Following the trail was easy enough. The rest of the palace had an almost antiseptic feel to it. Cold and unforgiving. He was reminded forcibly of Danarius's estate and shoved away the intrusive thoughts and memories. There was a precision here that he wasn't sure he liked. Almost as if there was nothing organic, which made the blood scent seem even more unusual.

The trail ended at an ornate blue door. He hesitated, pawing at it, and then stepped through, feeling only minor discomfort. The scent was even stronger in here though he didn't see or smell anyone. He changed back to his elven form and looked around, taking note of the bedroom. It was impressive in its opulence and Fenris realized he must've been in Celene's chambers. He recognized the golden lion upon the purple field which hung prevalently throughout the palace, a vanity upon which sat several masks, and a nightgown laid out on the large bed.

But none of those things were nearly as interesting as the next room, from where he could smell the blood. He stepped through the archway and recoiled. A porcelain tub sat in the middle of the chamber, blood streaking down the side to pool at the floor. Rust-colored streaks ran toward the drain and Fenris had to wonder if the person whose blood decorated the room was even alive anymore. Somehow he doubted that was possible.

Having seen enough, he transformed back into his wolf form and slunk back into the corridor to go tell Hawke what he'd found.


	22. Bloodbath: Act 3

Fenris slipped into the ballroom just as the dancing ended in favor of several speeches. He was used to people moving out of his way based solely on his appearance but here they didn't seem to care, one or two making rude remarks as he brushed past them to get to where Hawke was standing with the others. He grabbed Hawke's arm, pulling him down to whisper in his ear.

"Celene's tub was stained with blood. Perhaps only a few hours old."

"What?" Hawke's tone was heavily disbelieving.

Dorian, however, appeared to be highly interested. "Blood? Why would Empress Celene need a bathtub of blood? She's not a vampire. I would have sensed _that_ I think."

"I don't know," Fenris admitted, keeping his tone low.

Hawke gestured for them to come with him, the four of them moving toward the back of the room in an unused corner as the Grand Duchess droned on about the state of affairs here in their fair city of Val Royeaux.

"Something is definitely off," Anders worried. "Perhaps it wasn't her."

"Oh I'm not so sure," Dorian said airily. "The evidence seems pretty damning to me."

"Remember what we heard from Loghain," Anders reminded them. "Celene keeps a mage at court. I know he's likely paranoid-"

"He was wrong about the dogs," Hawke added.

Anders scowled. "Not entirely. And yes, he's biased, but he might not be wrong about this. If it's _fashionable_ to keep a mage at court, Celene likely brought one on."

"An accessory one step above a colorful handbag," Dorian muttered.

Fenris butted in. "It's probable." They looked at him, Anders' expression a mix of gratitude and confusion. "If the empress is not a vampire, then she would have no need of blood. Her mage, however, might be using blood magic for a spell."

"...I'm not complaining that you're backing me up, but of course it would have to be in regards to thinking poorly of mages, wouldn't it?" Anders sighed.

"Not all mages," Fenris agreed. "But that is not the point."

Hawke crossed his arms, thinking. "For what purpose though? It would have to be a powerful spell. To kill Gaspard?"

"She could sooner stick a knife in his ribs or arrange an accident," Dorian said. "Magic is useful, but blood magic is rarely subtle unless-"

"Unless what?" Hawke prompted.

"Unless she was using it to control him, rather than kill him," he finished.

They looked up at the top of the hall, the garden doors flung open wide as Gaspard waved in a very tall structure covered in a giant cloth. It towered over them, twice his height, and he looked delighted.

"The gift?" Dorian guessed.

Fenris felt the ambient magic in the corner of the room as the mages carefully pooled their mana. He slipped behind Hawke as his markings began to glow faintly, unable to control them. Not that it mattered; all eyes were on Gaspard.

"I present to you," he was saying, taking hold of the cloth, "my gift of peace and prosperity for my cousin, my empress."

He pulled the cloth, and the crowd gasped collectively.

"That's it?" Dorian scoffed.

It was a twelve foot statue of Andraste in marble, hands clasped in prayer, eyes to the heavens. Though impressive, it was hardly ominous, and not a bit deadly. The impressed applause rippled through the crowd as Gaspard raised his hand in gratitude. Celene stepped toward him and they hugged.

"I haven't seen a more awkward family moment since the last time I was home with my father," Dorian noted.

"That can't be it." Hawke frowned. "There's got to be more to it."

"You _want_ something else to happen?" Dorian asked, incredulous.

Celene was speaking again, thanking Gaspard for his kindness and generosity. "But I have my own gift to give you all. I will bestow that momentarily. If I could have the following lords and ladies please exit the ballroom and into the gardens where a private salon is being set up especially for you. Do enjoy the desserts."

The energy of the crowd changed. Jealousy mixed with hope and eagerness as a herald called out the names of several houses.

"We stay," Hawke said. "Something's definitely not right. Whatever 'gift' she has to give them… it doesn't sound good."

"Or the salon might hold the answers," Fenris added.

"We could split up," Anders suggested. "Head out and-"

The doors to the garden banged shut.

"Or not," he finished.

"Somehow I don't think we're about to be fed dessert," Hawke said, looking around. "The exits are sealed."

"Thank you," Celene called out, "for being so very forthcoming with how your loyalties lie. It makes tonight that much easier for me. Briala, if you please!"

The panels in the walls started to click open accompanied by a loud mechanical buzzing noise. A confused murmur filled the room. Suddenly a dozen metal machines each the size of a hatbox flew from the open panels. Very large spinning blades affixed to the front whirred ominously and they watched, shocked, as the machine sped quickly toward a nobleman, taking his head clean off. It tumbled from his neck, his body slumping down beside it.

Fenris didn't wait for the screaming to start as he yanked all three mages to the ground, shoving their heads down while doing the same. He heard Hawke's surprised shouts over the chaos that was panicking nobles. Thankfully they were tucked into a corner and avoided getting trampled, but the others were not as lucky. He caught Hawke's eye and wondered if his own expression was as wild, as terrified, and felt the pounding of his own heart, wondering how they were going to get out of this one.

He looked to Anders. "Any chance of using magic?" he called over the whirring and the screaming.

"We don't know how it'll interact," Anders shouted back. "If we could isolate one, we can try!"

Fenris looked next at Dorian and gasped. His eyes were flat black, lips parted, fangs extended. "Dorian!"

"There's so much of it."

The hall was quickly becoming drenched with the blood of the dead and dying. The stench was overwhelming for Fenris and he could almost taste the coppery tang on his tongue. As a wolf it wouldn't offend his senses nearly as much, but for Dorian, it must've smelled divine. He reached out quickly and grabbed Dorian's wrist.

"Oh," Dorian breathed at the contact, unable to keep the pheromones from spilling forth.

Fenris was instantly and irritatingly aroused. "Control yourself!"

"Trying to," Dorian muttered.

A noblewoman tripped on the hem of her gown. One of the machines whirred by and slit her throat, showering them with arterial blood. She clutched at her neck, unable to breathe or speak, and fell. Fenris felt the droplets of warm blood on his face and his markings surged to light as Dorian leaned in and ran his tongue along his cheekbone.

"Stop that!" he hissed.

"You take care of him," Hawke said. "Anders and I will get to Celene and try to stop this madness!"

"Hawke!"

But they were on their feet in seconds, Hawke holding tightly to Anders' hand as they ducked the machines, dodging scrambling, panicking nobles. Fenris felt Dorian's tongue on his neck and though he hated to do it, shoved him to his back, pinning him down.

"Playing rough," Dorian purred. "I love it." He licked his teeth, tongue running over his fangs. "I know you want it." He rolled his hips up.

Fenris ducked in time, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by one of the flying death machines. Hands pinning Dorian's wrists, he had little means to defend himself. He had to make a quick decision.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Dorian said. "Just come closer." He leaned up, stretching toward Fenris, trying to get at his neck.

Fenris, hoping he wouldn't regret this later, head-butted Dorian hard, knocking him out. "Forgive me," he muttered and stood carefully in order to follow Hawke and Anders into the fray.


	23. Tremors: Act 1

The throbbing in his head woke him, though his vision swam when he opened his eyes. He brought his palm to his forehead, wincing at the tenderness, but there was another more pressing concern. His fingers were sticky with blood, his face wet with rivulets of the sweet-smelling liquid. Everything felt so very, very sharp, as if the world was in focus for the first time. The smell of it permeated the air like the most decadent ambrosia. And Dorian was _hungry_. He fought hard against the instinct to lick from the puddle on the floor next to him, a dead woman lying not so far away from it. He couldn't remember if he'd made that corpse or not and found he truly didn't care.

The buzzing that filled his senses before was gone now, replaced by the sound of a far off and distant fight. Through the undeniable need he pushed himself, getting to his hands and knees and managed to look around the room, trying to remember how he got there and who he was.

_Dorian Pavus, no matter what your father says. Apprentice to Magister Gereon Alexius, the finest man you've ever met._

He shook his head.

_Blood. Hunger. Feed. Must feed now._

Another flash of his former life.

_Your best friend Felix laughing at something you – I'd – said. He claps me on the back and congratulates me on a test I passed, telling me how pleased Alexius would be._

The floor tilted ever so slightly. Thick like maple syrup poured over one of his favorite desserts, the blood oozed over the marble floors where it pooled and drained into reservoirs. They emptied into holes that led to pipes that disappeared beneath the floor, and those pipes led to who only knew where.

"No!"

Dorian scrambled forward, unable to help himself, and lowered his lips to drink from a reservoir like a horse at its trough. Delicious, warm, this was glorious. Better than limiting himself every time he drank, taking careful sips from his flask or his friends… his friends… Friends who were here, fighting somewhere. He couldn't concentrate, wanting only to abate his hunger.

"You are gorgeous."

Dorian looked up, fangs extended, unable to help the hiss that escaped his lips. He vaguely recognized the empress, her white dress stained red now. She held out a hand.

"Intriguing. I have heard of the likes of you. Tell me, does the blood keep you young?"

Young? Dorian let the word rattle around in his brain and got to his feet, ignoring her hand. He wiped off his chin, frowning.

"You'll not get away with this, Celene!"

Dorian looked over, tilting his head curiously a moment as he registered what was going on. Four elves had cornered four men. No, three men and another elf.

_Your friends. Your friends and the Grand Duke._

Dorian shook his head again and it cleared. The world became less sharp, a little dull around the edges, but somehow more real. And he suddenly realized his friends were in danger. They needed him. His palms filled with fire, a fury igniting inside him. He lifted his hands to send a stream of fire at Celene when suddenly another elf dropped from seemingly out of nowhere and delivered a kick to his jaw that sent him reeling back.

"Briala," Celene acknowledged. "Execute the interlopers and my dear cousin. Keep the vampire alive unless it's unavoidable. I must see to my loyal guests."

She turned on her heel and strode purposefully across the room, stepping around the decapitated marble head of Andraste.

"You bitch!" Gaspard shouted and lunged at Celene, sword raised.

Briala was faster, dropping her daggers to pull her bow from her back. She loosed three arrows in quick succession, catching him in the throat, chest, and leg. He dropped heavily, wheezed once, and died. Celene nudged him with her foot, contemplating, then looked at Briala.

"My eternal gratitude. See that Michel and the guards have their fill on the corpses, poor things. Must be so hungry."

"Your Majesty," Briala said, curtsying.

Celene nodded and exited the ballroom, shutting and locking the garden doors behind her.

Briala leaned down to pick up her daggers and Dorian saw his window. The ball of fire flew from his fingertips but Briala was faster, leaping out of the way. From the corner of his eye he saw Fenris's lyrium lines lighting up and heard the growling of the massive wolf. The magic in the air thickened, a barrier forming around him instantly and he realized Anders must've shielded him. He took advantage of the momentary invulnerability, twisting his palms together to infuse his inferno spells with a darker magic pulled from the shadows. It was an easy trick surrounded by the corpses, the spirits that controlled the Fade bending easily to his will.

The bursts of flame were deflected by Briala's enchanted silverite daggers. She danced backward, agile and cunning as Dorian weaved another spell. The shield fell and she raced forward, seeing her opportunity. Dorian, lacking a staff to better focus his magic, couldn't erect a shield in time and braced himself for the inevitable collision. Fenris leapt at her, the wolf easily outweighing her slight form, and knocked her to the ground. The blood on the floor made it difficult for Fenris to find purchase, claws scrabbling at the slick marble. Briala rolled away and glanced up, realizing that her elves were dead now, the last having been killed by Hawke's electric wires, which crackled from between his fingertips. Dorian breathed a sigh of relief, mind still miraculously clear.

"You can surrender now," Hawke said, a dangerous fire in his eyes as he advanced on Briala.

Fenris, hackles raised, growling, readied himself to leap.

Briala laughed, one arm cradled against her stomach as she shoved herself from them, backing away quickly. "You think you can stop my mistress? She is already so far ahead of you! She will surpass that pathetic excuse for a magister with her powers."

"Magister," Hawke repeated. "You're talking about the one reanimating the dead."

Dorian wondered if there was truth to that. Was Celene trying to emulate RTD? It would be just like an Orlesian to try to outdo one of his countrymen. Though he realized RTD's actions were nothing to be proud of. However, he sensed no necromancy here, no latent magic, and the corpses certainly weren't moving now. "Why blood?"

Briala glared at him. "To make the perfect vampire. To keep herself young."

"And you agreed to this," Anders said, bewildered.

"Surrender," Hawke said again. "And we won't kill you."

"It will be you who dies first!" Briala raised her fingers to her lips and let out an ear-splitting whistle.

Fenris's ears pressed to the back of his head and he growled before he leapt onto her, tearing her throat out. She made no noise as she died, though the look upon her face was one of triumph. They realized why a moment later. The whistle alerted the guards, the doors to the ballroom slamming open. Two dozen armored soldiers poured in at once, swords at the ready.

"Shit," Hawke swore.

"We appear to be outnumbered," Dorian said, backing away with the rest of them.

"Tactical retreat," Hawke ordered. "Fenris, care to help with the exit?"

Fenris growled at the approaching soldiers then turned and raced toward one of the high windows lining the ballroom. With a powerful leap, he crashed through the stained glass, giving them their out.

"As much as we'd love to stay and chat," Hawke said. "Run!" He turned and fled, Dorian and Anders hot on his heels.


	24. Tremors: Act 2

The palace was enormous. When they'd been checking rooms, Hawke realized they'd only been scratching at the barest surface. It was no wonder they couldn't find the thing Gaspard was hiding. He could have kept it literally anywhere. Not that they would've considered a statue as a weapon. They should have been looking at this from all angles, not just Gaspard, who turned out to be entirely innocent of any nefarious dealings. At least ones that happened to involve the decapitation of his guests and other macabre things. The man fought Briala's elves valiantly with them. Given just a few more minutes, they would have dispatched all of them easily and taken Briala out before she could call the guards.

Hawke knew he should've killed her and not given her even a moment to surrender. Then to find out that Celene was trying something similar to RTD? To raise corpses or otherwise wreak havoc with unnatural magic or enchantments? She needed to be stopped. And they would stop her. Just as soon as they could stop running from the horde of soldiers behind them.

Winded, they weaved through corridors, leaping over bodies that were murdered in similar fashion to those in the ballroom, their blood drained. Celene using blood, _anyone_ using blood but not blood magic, that was unheard of. But it didn't make it any less wrong or disgusting. Just as soon as they could escape, he would alert Alexius as to what was going on and hope he had a plan for this. Killing the empress of Orlais _might_ just piss a few people off. Starting a war wasn't exactly what Hawke had in mind when they arrived in Val Royeaux, after all.

"Through there!" Anders shouted as they gained a vast courtyard.

They ducked into a door opposite and slammed it shut, throwing the latch. Fenris transformed back and he and Hawke shoved a heavy wooden shelf against it, knocking it over in the process. The glass and porcelain dishes inside crashed as they broke. A second later something slammed against the door from the opposite side.

"More furniture!" Hawke ordered.

They shoved a table and several chairs against the door to create a barricade, then quickly looked around to assess their situation. 

"Oh shit," Hawke swore.

They'd taken the man by surprise, which would explain why they hadn't immediately been cleaved in two. They ducked as one as the man – and calling him that was a disservice to how very fucking _large_ he was – swung at them. The shining butcher's cleaver dripped with pig's blood, the pig itself lying on the counter, waiting to be hacked up into chops or bacon. The room was big enough for them to fan out, forcing the butcher to focus on one of them. He decided that Dorian was his goal and with loud, booming steps, chased after him.

"FRESH MEAT!" the butcher bellowed, his huge belly bouncing with each ambling movement. The front of his apron was splattered in blood and spittle flew from his lips as he panted with the effort of trying to slice Dorian into bite-sized pieces.

"He's possessed by something!" Anders shouted.

"The faster you kill him, the faster you set the spirit free!" Dorian urged, ducking another vicious swing.

Eight electric wires flung from Hawke's fingers, encircling the butcher, squeezing tightly. He let out a pained cry, deep and mournful. Muscles and fat bulged from between the wires, the skin searing and smoking, the stench of charred flesh permeating the room. The wires snapped and Hawke scrambled to rein them in before he lost control. Chunks of skin and muscle hung in strips from the butcher's body, swinging to and fro as it continued to clamber after Dorian, slamming into counters and knocking over shelves.

Dorian dove under a table as the butcher slammed his cleaver down, catching the leg of his pants. He tugged frantically, trying to pull away. A huge fist splintered the table, Dorian yelling in pain as the wood rained down atop him. The butcher yanked the cleaver out of the floor and raised his arm for another blow. Fenris, in wolf form, leapt from the side, jaws sinking heavily into the butcher's wrist. Howling in rage, the butcher tried to dislodge him, waving his arm violently back and forth. The cleaver came free, flying through the air and sticking in the wall with a _thud_. Fenris was knocked loose a second later, following the cleaver, body slamming against the same wall where he let out a pained yelp and slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Dorian's attack hit the butcher at the same time Anders' did, a crackle of lightning meeting a stream of flame. Hawke wound his hands together, a black void forming between them. The mages worked in sync, pouring their mana into the attack. Hawke wrenched his hands apart, the butcher exploding from the force of the crushing prison. Fiery chunks rained down, Anders expending more mana to keep them shielded as the fires burned out. Hawke, panting with the effort of the spell, rushed to Fenris's side.

"I'm fine," Fenris assured him, having transformed back. He was holding his shoulder, wincing a little.

Anders reached down to pull Dorian to his feet. "All right?"

"Not at all!" Dorian declared, brushing himself off. He was covered in bruises from the shattering of the table. "That's my quota of excitement filled for this month. What in Andraste's name was that thing?" 

"Some kind of possessed creature, I'd wager," Anders said, toeing a bit of the carcass.

Dorian shook his head and crossed the room to help Hawke pull Fenris to his feet. "Are you all right?"

"Bruised," Fenris replied. "I will live."

"Doesn't matter now what he was." Hawke flexed his fingers. "He broke my wires. Not sure how that happened. Might be a bit before I can recharge. We should see if there's a way out of here."

The room they found themselves in was obviously some type of kitchen. Though hardly pristine when they entered, it was in ruins now. A cursory glance revealed no windows and a trap door in the floor which Fenris opened to inspect. There was a large fireplace which Dorian lit with a tumble of flames from his fingertips.

"They could smoke us out," Anders suggested.

"If they're smart enough to plug the chimney – if they can even reach it," Dorian added, "then we'll douse it. Best they don't have another way _in_ if we don't have another way _out_."

"Wine cellar," Fenris said, pulling himself out of the trap door with Hawke's help.

"Oh good, at least we'll die drunk."

Hawke glared at Dorian. "Not the time for jokes."

"I think our inevitable death is the perfect time for jokes," Dorian snapped. "It may very well be our last opportunity!"

"Are you all right?" Fenris asked, stepping between them, effectively ending the argument before it could escalate. He grasped Dorian's chin and eyed him critically.

"You mean before or after you knocked me unconscious? Or were you referring to the behemoth of a madman that tried to catch me for tonight's supper?" He gestured at the bits of flesh scattered about the room before his expression softened. "I'm fine," he whispered. "The ballroom was unpleasant and I couldn't…" He exhaled heavily. "Thank you for doing what you needed to do."

The creaking of metal and sloshing of water broke the moment and they looked over to see Anders pumping water into a barrel.

"First," Anders said, "we wash off the blood. To make it easier on Dorian. Then," he continued, peeling off his rich-looking coat that was covered in blood, "I want to look you over." He was speaking to Dorian specifically, who nodded mutely, realizing how much he must have worried his companions with his loss of control. "After…" He looked around thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I need a moment to think."

They listened to him without argument, scrubbing away the blood and stripping to their undershirts. Dorian remained silent as Anders checked his vital signs and used a few spells he was wholly unfamiliar with. After healing his wounds, Anders moved quietly from shelf to shelf to examine the ingredients, opening lids with a critical eye. Hawke crossed to help him look for whatever it was he was trying to find.

"I'm all right," Dorian assured Fenris before he could ask again. He ran a hand back through his damp hair, lamenting the loss of style, but glad he was no longer covered in blood. "It was simply too much blood. More than we're used to," he amended. "The ship was pretty bad, I suppose, but I was honestly so preoccupied with, 'Goodness me look at that giant hydra. We might all die!' and 'Oh dear, Anders has gone and turned into a monstrous thing that pops heads!'"

Fenris shook his head, smirking.

"I am so glad my distress is a source of amusement," Dorian said dryly.

"You tend to ramble when you're worried." Fenris took his hand, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I am not angry. I was merely worried."

"I'm fine," Dorian said once more, though it was as much for his own comfort as Fenris's. He reached up and slicked Fenris's hair back, touching the three circular lyrium markings on his forehead. "You should wear it like this more often."

Fenris shook his head and combed his fingers through his hair, hiding the markings. "The less exposed the better."

Dorian wanted to ask why, but he thought he knew. "I think they're extraordinary." Then to Hawke and Anders he asked, "What can we do to help?"

Anders was gathering containers, laying them out on a counter. "I'm not sure how much time we have. I'm going to set up an assembly line and I'll need help putting it all together. Fenris, can you fetch as many empty bottles as you can from the cellar? If there aren't any empties, dump some out."

"Orelsian wine is so bitter anyway," Dorian agreed. "What's the plan?"

"Something I developed in the Circle. I used it to escape once," he explained, and rolled up his sleeves. "Here, start grinding these leaves." He pushed over a mortar and pestle. "Hawke, start stripping these roots, put the little red seeds in the bowl and throw out the rest."

They did as they were told, Dorian grinding the leaves into a paste while Hawke separated the seeds from the other bits. Fenris returned from the cellar with half a dozen bottles.

"That should be enough," Anders said, stirring a mixture in a large wooden bowl. "When we're done, I'm going to pour this into the bottles, then the seeds go on top, enough to cover it. We'll need strips of fabric. Fenris, can you take care of that?"

Fenris plucked a large knife from a butcher's block and knelt on the floor near their discarded clothing, cutting and tearing off pieces.

"Hawke, when you're done, I'll need a funnel for this."

"What does this actually do?" Dorian asked, curious. "It's an accelerant?"

"Of a sort. If we had lyrium it would make it all the more potent, but I took my last vial in the ballroom."

"All out here, too," Hawke reported, a little worried.

"We'll be fine," Anders said, though he sounded unsure. "This has to work."

"I bet your templars loved this," Dorian muttered.

"They didn't exactly throw me a party, no," Anders said, with a slightly cheeky grin.

They assembled the bottles, Anders stuffing the edges of the cloth down into the mixture, leaving a good several inches hanging out of the neck.

"We light the tip of the cloth and hurl the bottles, then boom. Explosions all around."

"Why have I never heard of this?" Dorian wondered. "These are fascinating little things."

Anders shrugged, but he looked pleased with himself. "Fenris, since you can't cast-"

"I will remove the barricade and open the door," Fenris agreed.

"Hawke, you pass the bottles to Dorian and myself, and with any luck-"

"You keep saying 'luck'," Dorian sighed. "I thought we went over exactly how lucky we actually are."

"With any luck," Anders insisted, "we'll take them all out with just a few hits. Or set them running and screaming on fire."

"I love it when you talk violence to me," Hawke mused. "Let's do this. Fenris, ready?"

Fenris started pulling apart their haphazard barricade. The banging on the door resumed in earnest, the latch nearly splintering. When the last piece of furniture was removed, Fenris stood with his hand on the door, holding up three fingers. They waited, Anders and Dorian with bottles in hand, Hawke crouched behind them, ready to hand up more. Fenris counted down, all four of them running off adrenaline and nerves.

Fenris flung the door open wide.


	25. Tremors: Act 3

The explosions were monumental. Fenris hadn't seen anything that impressive since the Qunari gaatlok. The force threw him back into the shelves, a cascade of bottles, plates, and pots raining down atop him. He had presence of mind to shield himself from the blow, but felt a cast iron skillet as it smacked him in the forearm, a blinding pain causing him to cry out. His arm was surely broken and as he took assessment of his other injuries, he realized he was bleeding from his side.

"I've got you," Anders called. "Hold on, Hawke!"

Fenris, body bruised and aching, lying slumped over, winced as he looked up. Hawke was down as well, the smoke and dust settling around them.

"They're all out," Dorian called from beyond the kitchen door. "Maker, they're all… they were possessed by hunger demons. Every single one of them."

Hawke coughed, sitting up with help from Anders. "Bloody brilliant," he wheezed. "I've always wanted to explode myself into bits."

"Your bits are just fine," Anders assured him.

"Maybe we can test them later," Hawke suggested, hissing as Anders pulled him to his feet. "Much later. Damn it. I'm going to be sore for days."

"Walk it off, you big baby," Anders said with a hint of fondness. "Where's-" He looked over at Fenris, eyes widening. "Fenris!"

Dorian appeared in the doorway a second later as Anders hurried over to where Fenris lay in a heap. "Fenris!" he echoed, and followed, kneeling down in the debris.

"Broken arm," Fenris managed.

Hawke appeared above them both a moment later, arms crossed and smirking. "Look at you. You break a bone and now you have groupies."

Fenris managed a weak chuckle. "I don't recommend trying it." He grimaced in pain when Anders set the bone and poured his magic into the wounds. The lyrium in his skin reacted powerfully with the spell and he closed his eyes, letting the warmth wash over him.

"Good as new again," Hawke said. "Little worse for wear. Too bad nothing will fix that ugly mug."

"You're just jealous of his cultured good looks," Dorian retorted, giving Fenris a warm smile.

"Stop," Anders warned. "Before it goes any further."

"Hm?" Fenris tilted his head slightly, and accepted the hand up from Anders, Dorian gripping him under the elbow.

"They've been fighting worse than usual," Anders informed him, as if he was a parent chastising his children. "I want to look at those corpses," he added, pulling a protesting Hawke from the room.

Fenris looked to Dorian instead for answers. "Fighting with Hawke? Worse than usual?"

Dorian spread his hands apologetically, then reached up to brush away the dirt from Fenris's face. "Jealousy, perhaps. Nothing I can't handle, as it seems he's unlikely to mature any time soon."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you had nothing to do with it."

Dorian looked scandalized at the suggestion. Under Fenris's gaze, his expression turned a bit sheepish, however. "Perhaps. Come, we're missing the fun."

"Looking at corpses is fun," Fenris muttered, following.

"Fascinating!" Dorian confirmed.

Anders was crouched over a body, palm out, a whitish ball of energy emanating from his fingertips. "Damn. That's it," he sighed, as the energy fizzled. "Unless I push myself, or if one of them has lyrium on them, though I doubt it."

"Same here," Hawke said, clenching and unclenching his fists. Weak snaps of electricity sparked between his fingers. "Usually not a problem, but those last couple of fights…"

"It's a shame we weren't able to bring our staves," Dorian said. A lick of flame flickered from his index finger before wisping out. "Focused magical energy flows better and doesn't spill over nearly uncontrolled."

"Pouring with a spout rather than a bucket," Anders agreed.

Fenris huffed.

"Don't be jealous," Hawke teased. "With any luck we can avoid the empress on our way out of here. Then we just inform Alexius – ah. Shit."

They looked up, the sound of plate metal clanking across the courtyard. 

"What have I said about using the "L" word?" Dorian sighed.

Anders stood quickly and backed away. Fenris reached down and picked up one of the fallen soldier's blades. He spun it easily in his hand and moved in front of the mages, ready to defend them, though he was exhausted as well. 

Celene was flanked by two gaunt-faced soldiers, their sunken eyes giving them a deadened look. She eyed Fenris and the mages critically, hands on her hips. "After I bade my guests good evening, I decided to check in with Briala's progress. How disappointed you've all made me."

"Nothing I haven't heard before," Hawke said with a shrug.

Celene looked at the fallen soldiers then gestured to the two on either side of her. "Take care of these four while I attend to your brothers. The spirits shouldn't have gone far." She withdrew a dagger and pressed the tip to her palm, an amulet around her neck starting to glow.

"Tevinter enchantments," Dorian identified, incredulous. "Oh sure, you're too good to join up with the madman raising the dead but you're not too good to use the magic that _we_ created!"

Celene merely laughed and stepped back, a dark shadowy glow surrounding her. Fenris struck first, leaping forward, drawing both the soldiers' blades. Hawke grabbed up a sword as well, pulling Anders back behind him.

"Hawke, I can-"

"Save it!" Hawke ordered. "Whatever you've got left, save it for patching us up after this. Dorian, what do you-"

Dorian reached forward, running his fingertips along the flat of Hawke's blade. It erupted into flame. "Not sure how long it'll hold. Go!"

Hawke nodded his thanks and joined Fenris. He wasn't as well versed in swordplay as he was with a staff, but he could block and dodge, distracting them so Fenris could try to land a blow that would knock them out. The soldiers were seasoned veterans in combat, despite being abominations in their own way. The dark aura around Celene grew darker still.

"Of all the places to die," Dorian lamented. He placed his palms together.

"What are you doing?" Anders asked, eyes wide.

"Pushing past the limits," Dorian explained, calm. "Do be quiet, Anders, this takes a lot of concentration."

"You'll hurt yourself! You might-"

"We're dead if they lose this fight. Do not heal me," he said, a dark purple ball of electricity forming between his hands. "Under any circumstances. Give it to Fenris if you can. He'll hold the line if she reanimates those corpses. I hope."

Anders flinched as Dorian grunted, keeping his focus on the little crackling sphere in his hands. His knees gave out and he dropped to one, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He transferred the energy to one palm, raised it high, and then slammed it to the ground with force. A wave of lightning arced and zinged over the ground before it shot up, enveloping Hawke and Fenris in a shield of pure mana. Dorian, exhausted, slumped down, breathing heavily. Anders dropped to his side, clutching his arm.

"Not dead yet," Dorian whispered, barely conscious. "Should buy us some time."

The ground started to rumble.

"After effect of the spell?" Anders asked. "I've never seen anything like-"

"You flatter me," Dorian laughed, eyes closed. "Should do that more often. I like it."

The rumbling grew louder, the courtyard starting to shake like an earthquake.

"What did you do?" Hawke shouted, leaping back from a blow. He was exhausted as well, flagging as the soldier surged forward.

Fenris was faster, deflecting the thrust, and ended up tripping, rolling away from the fray. Hawke fell back with another strike.

"Hawke!" Anders called. He raced forward, pushing his mana outward, catching both soldiers with a weak mind blast, but it was enough. They flew several feet backward and Anders was able to haul Hawke to his feet.

Fenris, half-crawling, gasped, "The kitchen! It's our only chance."

They started to retreat, Anders and Hawke dragging the nearly unconscious Dorian. The ground shifted under them, throwing them all off their feet. The aura around Celene broke as she lost concentration, and quite suddenly the courtyard split open. A huge worm emerged from underneath, jaws wide, swallowing Celene and half the courtyard whole. Too stunned to understand what was happening, but unwilling to become the thing's next meal, Anders urged the others back.

"Is that…?" Hawke guessed. "Maker's balls, it _is_. That stupid fucking worm from the stupid fucking desert! How in the bloody flames-" He broke off, dropping to the ground, too tired to finish his rant.

Dorian let out a feeble laugh, slumped against Anders, who stared open-mouthed at the worm. Atop it sat a horned Qunari, shouting something they couldn't hear. The doors off the courtyard opened, twenty or thirty newcomers pouring through, all armed to the teeth. They heard the Qunari whooping and hollering from atop the worm, sounding as if he was having the time of his life. The worm thrashed back and forth, trying to dislodge the thing atop its head, but the Qunari was not giving up, holding tightly to one of the metal plates that encased the worm's vulnerable flesh.

"Watch the fire, boys!" the Qunari shouted as one of the metal plates spurted a giant flame.

The soldiers or sell-swords or whoever they were worked together quickly and efficiently, hacking at the worm's flesh with their weapons, pelting it with arrows, all the while avoiding bursts of flames and the worm's razor-like teeth. It reared back and the Qunari lost his grip, holding on with one hand, shouting again in triumph as he held on. It was as if the worm was a bucking bronto at a fair, rather than a giant monstrous beast that could kill them all. Regaining his grip, the Qunari pulled a sword from his back and, using both hands, thrust the blade into the creature's eyeless head. It reared back, finally tossing the Qunari to the ground. He rolled easily and recovered.

"Krem, watch its flank!" he bellowed.

A soldier leapt out of the way as the tail flicked and thrashed wildly. The Qunari leapt to his feet and joined his men. The fight didn't last long after that, the worm outnumbered and outclassed by the obviously organized group. Fenris, swaying as he knelt next to Hawke, managed enough effort to be impressed with how well they worked together. Three men jumped quickly out of the way as the worm fell, and to add insult to injury, they stabbed it a good dozen more times even after it stopped moving. A cheer went up after, followed by back slapping and laughter. The Qunari chuckled, replaced his sword on his back, and sauntered over to them easily.

Fenris tensed, instinct telling him to get up, to move, to intercept. Hawke grabbed his wrist and held him firmly in place.

"Hey," the Qunari said in a deep, rumbling tone. "...Damn. You all look like shit. Looks like I got here just in time." He rooted through his bag and came up with half a dozen vials of lyrium and elfroot. "Name's Iron Bull. Alexius said you might need some help."

"Iron Bull." Hawke took the vials from him, and distributed them to the others. "Maker, it is good to meet you."

Bull grinned widely. "Let's get you patched up. Stitches!" he called to one of the members of his group. "You'll be all right," he added, hauling Hawke to his feet. "Damn shame I missed the party, though."

Hawke couldn't help but laugh as he shook Bull's hand, relieved that for once, their luck finally held out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends Season Two of Something Wicked!
> 
> Due to some real life stuff coming up this weekend I likely won't have time to start posting Season Three until Sunday evening (the 22nd). Rest assured it's finished and just needs editing at this point. I'll probably continue posting one-a-day. Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading. Really appreciate all your comments and support!


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